The Tide Began to Rise
by FoxyWolf16
Summary: Ed is deaged trying to bring back his brother's body. Al, Winry, and Roy are now trying to find a way to restore him to his true form. Only problem is, Ed has no memories, and cannot help them. NOT A DEATH-FIC! Slight parental! Roy.
1. Journey's End Or Beginning?

Chapter 1  
"Journey's End or Beginning?"

_Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick  
and I think of you  
caught up in circles,  
Confusion is nothing new  
Flashback—warm nights—  
almost left behind  
suitcases of memories,  
time after--_

_Sometimes you picture me  
I'm walking too far ahead  
you're calling to me, I can't hear  
what you've said--  
Then you say… go slow…  
I fall behind…  
the second hand unwinds…_

_  
"Time After Time" by Cyndi Lauper_

Roy Mustang stood stiffly in the doorway, hat pressed close to his chest as he stared at the gnarled wood of the door that had been shut so rudely in his face. He wasn't angry—no, far from it, because Winry Rockbell had every right in the world to slam a door in his face. In fact, he privately believed she had the right to slam his face in the door.

So no, he wasn't angry. In actuality, he was disappointed.

Disappointed, because he would have rather preferred getting in quietly and without a fight.

Disappointed, because despite her every right to torment him, he really did need to see Edward and Alphonse Elric.

"Miss Rockbell," he called, knocking on the door, "Miss Rockbell, I understand your obvious hatred of me, but I really, really need to see Fullmetal and Alphonse—and I would really, really like to get in without having to use excessive force!"

Silence.

Where was Hughes when he needed him? Oh yeah. At home, cooing over his wife and kid.

Roy rubbed the bridge of his nose irritably. He was lying of course—he wouldn't dare use force to get into his subordinate's best friend's house. That would probably not do well for whatever amount of trust Edward had in his commanding officer, nor for the truce they had made— the one right before Roy went to face King Bradley, and Ed went to face Envy and the rest of the sins.

After about five minutes, Roy sighed and stepped off the porch. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. It completely didn't match his current mood.

Roy thought back on the other day, frowning as he stared off into the grassy plains that made up Resembool. He traced the edge of his eye patch with a long finger.

"_All hail the Fuhrer! Hail Hakuro!"_

_The words tasted like acid on Roy's tongue, but he still had to force himself to actually get them out—to keep up appearances. Keep it cool, keep it suave. Nobody else but his crew could actually tell he was pissed about this course of events, and Roy was studiously ignoring Hawkeye's glares. _

_Too young. _

_Times like this he wanted to throw a fit worthy of Fullmetal, because that's probably what the brat was constantly ticked about. _

_Too young, the government—rendered completely ineffectual by the survival of the utilitarian government, in any case— had decided; Roy was too young, too inexperienced to lead a country. They wanted someone with experience, a family-man, someone like Hakuro._

_Please. He was twenty-eight years old. That was plenty old enough. Never mind that every officer had been at least forty by the time they made it as far up the chain of command as Roy had. He was the youngest general by far, and Roy couldn't help the flush of pride when he thought about it. He'd (eventually) be the youngest Fuhrer too, if he had anything to say about it. _

_Hakuro looked down the line of soldiers, eyes resting on his newest general. The smug grin faded a bit, and Roy let his own grow into a shark-like smile that showed off way too many teeth to be comfortable—until Hawkeye kicked him discreetly in the leg. _

_No use frightening the Fuhrer now._

_Gesturing for his little lackey—Pembroke—to follow him, Hakuro walked across the aisle and stopped in front of Roy. Roy quickly brought his hand up in a sharp salute._

"_Brigadier __General Roy Mustang, as Amestris' new Fuhrer, I would like to present you with this," he reached out and opened the little box that Pembroke had been carrying for him, withdrawing a medal, "The Star of Amestris; for protecting our national stability from the former Fuhrer, King Bradley." Hakuro pinned the medal to his breast. "It is our country's highest honor."_

_Word had gotten out about Bradley's existence as a Homunculi, and the government had become aware of a vague idea of the conspiracy. Roy, of course, had done his civic duty to the country by ridding it of Bradley, and so wasn't punished, but promoted instead. Then the Parliament had been split up and made useless by Hakuro._

_Roy pursed his lips. "I will uphold it well, Your Excellency."_

_There was a gleam in Hakuro's eyes when he heard his title, and it was with another smug grin that he turned and took two small boxes out of Pembroke's hands._

"_Unfortunately, the Fullmetal Alchemist, Major Edward Elric, cannot be here today, due to unavoidable circumstances—" Hakuro shot Roy a narrow look, "—but, as his commanding officer, I am sure you will be proud to present him with these."_

_The first box was opened; revealing a medal exactly like the one Roy had just received. "For helping you in protecting national stability, he receives this, and—" the second box was opened, revealing new shoulder boards worthy of a Lieutenant Colonel, "—a promotion."_

_Roy accepted the two boxes gingerly. "I would be proud to present these to him, Your Excellency. Whether he'll wear them or not is something to be debated."_

_If he would just ever reappear, Roy thought as Hakuro went down the line, presenting Hughes, Hawkeye, Havoc, Breda, Falman, and Fuery with the same medals he had received, with Hawkeye and Havoc both receiving the rank of Major and Hughes receiving the rank Colonel._

_Whether Ed was still alive or not was something Roy would rather not contemplate._

_The national anthem was sung to bring the inauguration of the Fuhrer to a close, and most everybody that wanted to get up bright and early the next day filed out of the auditorium. Roy would have stuck around—"Higher-ups can afford the most amazing wine, Lieu—Major! Please…" —but Hawkeye was adamant that he start his career as a Brigadier General on a good foot by being on time the next morning._

Roy reminded himself for the third time that he should thank Hawkeye for her good advice. If he had been late that morning, he probably wouldn't have received the call from Alphonse.

Although, Roy thought sourly as he left the Rockbell property and walked along the crest of the neighboring hill, it seemed that Alphonse probably made the call in absolute secrecy, because Winry sure didn't seem like she wanted him there.

Checking his watch, Roy sighed once more, turning in the direction of the train station, and the nearest phone.

It was time to call in some back up.

……….

A day and a half later, Hughes boarded off the train at Resembool, mildly agitated about being pulled away from his family back in Central. Running a hand through his hair, he scanned the train station over until his hazel eyes found a familiar shape strewn out across one of the benches.

Smirking, Hughes walked over to Roy. The dark haired man seemed to be asleep, huddled deep inside his coat in an effort to keep out the October cold. He shuddered when Hughes' shadow passed over him, curling up a bit tighter.

"Roy," Hughes shook Roy's shoulder gently, "Roy, wake up, or I'm going back home."

Roy made an odd noise in his throat, rolling over on the bench and nearly falling onto the cement ground. He squinted irritably up at Hughes with his one eye.

"What took you so long?" he croaked, shifting onto his back and pulling his feet in enough for Hughes to sit down on the bench too.

Hughes shoved his hands in his pockets. "Hey, be nice. I came, didn't I? Besides, I think Alicia has separation anxiety when it comes to me. She actually hid daddy's boots and car keys from me to keep from catching the train on time. Isn't that the most adorable thing--?"

"It's really too early for you to go on one of your family rants," Roy muttered, sticking an arm behind his head to serve as a pillow. Hughes smiled over his shoulder at Roy, but the seriousness of the fact that Alicia even had separation anxiety didn't leave. Roy thought briefly on Hughes' scrape with Envy that had cost him a healthy lung and a really long hospital stay, then shook it from his mind. He fixed Hughes with a narrow look.

"Miss Rockbell doesn't seem too keen on letting me inside the house," Roy said, sitting up a bit further, "I assumed that, since you two seemed to get along rather well, you might be able to persuade her to let me come in and talk to Alphonse and Fullmetal."

Hughes snorted. "Old friend, I thought you were the one with all the luck when it comes to the ladies."

Roy shot him a glare. "Funny, Hughes."

Hughes stood up, glancing around at the completely empty train station. "I find it mildly worrying that you're too preoccupied with the fact that you killed her parents to notice she's fifteen years old," he said, stretching out, "Forgetting one problem for another? Anyways… let's go. I'd like to get home soon."

Roy swung his legs over the bench, standing up and straightening out his rumpled jacket. Hughes darted him a narrow look.

"Did you really sleep out here all night? I thought there was an inn here."

Roy stretched out, his joints popping loudly in the quiet of the station. "Yeah," he yawned, "there is, but nobody here really caters to military—famous or not. I think Fullmetal is the only one."

Hughes snickered. "So, you had more than one door slammed in your face last night?"

"Can it."

The two friends were quiet for the rest of the walk from the train station to Rockbell Automail, relishing their first moment of peace in nearly two weeks. Despite the chill, Resembool was a beautiful place to be in any time of the year.

They reached the top of a hill that Roy remembered very well, and both of their gazes were drawn to a dark patch far below them.

Hughes stopped walking, staring down at the pile of ashes below them. "…Is that…?"

Roy nodded. "That's where they lived. It was a nice house. I checked it out soon after Miss Pinako Rockbell cleaned up the boys' mess."

Hughes darted Roy yet another slanted look. "…and Ed knows you were in there?"

"I highly doubt it," Roy snorted, "He probably would've ripped me limb from limb when he found out. Those are his memories, his and Alphonse's. The idea of me sullying the place up with my "bastard-ness" would be far too much for him to handle."

Hughes shook his head, and silence prevailed until they made it to the Rockbell house. Hughes was the one who knocked this time around, rapping out a little tune and looking up at the balcony overhead.

Nobody answered.

"Winry?" Hughes called out, "It's Maes! I thought I'd try to talk to you, since you've apparently got Roy with his tail between his legs!"

Roy scowled, scuffing at the dirt with his boot. He really wasn't expecting an answer until—

"Just go away!"

Hughes raised his eyebrows. That was a start. "Miss Winry, I understand your abhorrence of my friend here, but we do need to see Ed and Al."

"It's his fault Ed and Al are like this," Winry's voice came from the other side of the door, as though she had her ear pressed against the wood, "Mustang should never have even come that night! He should never have said a word about that damn military! Not to them!!"

Hughes pursed his lips. "Miss Winry, how about you let me come in, and we can talk face to face. It'll certainly be a lot easier than through the door."

There was silence for a long moment, then the door creaked open just a crack. Hughes waved Roy off, smiling smugly at him as he slid into the house. The door shut firmly behind him.

Roy glanced around before throwing his arms up in exasperation, leaning against the porch railing. His body ached from traveling on the train, voyaging across miles of countryside, sleeping on benches, and voyaging across more miles of countryside.

If people thought twenty-eight was young… He felt more like an eighty-year-old at the moment.

It felt like hours before the door opened again, Hughes reappearing with a slightly worried expression. "Well," he began, "She's agreed to let you in, as long as you don't upset Ed or Al. They're both… well, they're both not in that great of shape, from what she said."

Roy nodded silently, and Hughes opened up the door to let him in.

It was dark inside the house—not pitch black, but enough to be noticeable, as though the lights had been dimmed considerably. Winry stood off to the side of the dining room, hugging herself. Her face was tilted away, so Roy couldn't see her expression. Her blonde hair looked stringy and unwashed, and her clothes were rumpled.

He grimaced, glancing over at Hughes with raised eyebrows. In response, Hughes left his side for Winry's. Roy watched as Hughes kneeled in front of her, talking softly to the obviously upset girl, before he headed to where he had a feeling Edward lay.

It was even darker in the operating room, dark enough so that Roy couldn't see into it. It was completely silent, save for the sound of someone breathing. It sounded like a soft gasping for air, as though the person had a wet dishrag over their mouth.

Roy squinted through the darkness, spotting a light switch on the wall. Flicking it on, his eyes were drawn to the small form huddled up on the bed. Knowing instantly who it was, Roy moved quickly to the bedside.

Edward really, _really_ didn't look good. He looked as though he were suffocating, mouth gaping open like a fish out of water. His eyes were almost completely shut, and the rims of gold that could be seen were glassy, and it didn't look as though he were aware of anything. His blonde lashes were stark against his skin, which was as white as a sheet and splotchy red in several areas. He was covered in a thin layer of sweat. Looking closely, Roy could see through the covers that both of his legs from the knee down were gone, as well as his right arm.

What actually scared Roy, however, was that for fifteen years old, Ed was very small. Smaller than he should be, even taking his short stature into consideration. He looked like he was ten years old again, right after the transmutation that took his brother's body. His hair was even as short as it had been.

"He's also missing his ribs on his right side," Winry said, coming into the room suddenly, "and the right half of his pelvis, along with the top six inches of his right femur. From there, his leg is gone, and his left leg is gone down from the knee."

Roy turned to see her. Her face was haggard, as though she had been up and running for the past two weeks non-stop, trying to take care of the two brothers. Her blue eyes had gone grey with exhaustion. Winry didn't even look away from Ed as she continued:

"I've put in temporary prosthetic bones made of plastic, just to hold his body form right. He's got to be in a more stable condition in order to do automail surgeries, but he hasn't got better since he came in," Winry shook her head, rubbing at her eyes fiercely. Hughes was standing behind her, hands on her shoulders reassuringly. "I- I don't know how Ed ended up looking like that, I can't—I can't fix that, and I don't—"

"Miss Rockbell, it's—" Roy forced himself not to say it was going to be okay, because it most certainly was not going to be okay, "I'm not certain how Fullmetal ended up this way either. We're just going to have to be strong, and help him pull through it, because it looks to me like he's really just too tired to carry on by himself anymore. He just needs an extra hand."

Winry stared down at her hands, roughened from automail work and dirty under the nails. "An extra hand…" she murmured, a fine tremor going through her body, "But… isn't he going to be in trouble now? He—I know that whatever he did to his body, he's going to be in a lot of trouble… Will they…?"

Roy felt sick, having a mental image of Edward facing a firing squad. He swallowed his nausea down, not letting anything show on his face.

"No," he said, "He's not going to be in trouble. Hakuro wasn't a popular choice for Fuhrer in the first place among the people—persecuting the "People's Alchemist" won't exactly win favor for himself."

Winry pursed her lips, walking over to the bedside table and picking up a washcloth that had been sitting in a basin of water. She wrung the washcloth out, using it to mop away the sweat on Ed's forehead.

"So his safety depends on politics?" she mumbled, shaking her head. Blonde hair fell down to hide her face.

Roy nodded. "Unfortunately. However… there are always alternate plans in case things go wrong. Xing, for example. The weather there is quite lovely this time of year."

Winry looked up sharply, eyes wide. Roy smiled at her thinly, cast Edward a long look, then glanced around at the rest of the operating room. A pair of automail legs was sitting on the counter, accompanied by an arm, half a set of ribs, and half of a pelvis—all big enough for a nine or ten year old. He grimaced.

Winry looked back at Ed without saying anything. Hesitating, she reached for his left shoulder, pushing up on it so that he was rolled over on his side. Ed whimpered subconsciously, twisting deeper into the covers and shivering.

"I don't suppose… you know what this is?"

She pulled the covers away from Ed, and Roy had to steel himself from recoiling at the sight of Ed's back. The crucified snake, the symbol of the Philosopher's Stone on the back of Edward's jacket, was now burned into the space between his shoulder blades—a deep, red scar that would never fade from his skin.

"I don't know… maybe if the jacket melted into his skin or something, 'cuz Al has one on his shoulder too," Winry said, covering Ed back up and lying him down again, "Their teacher has it burned into her breast too. I don't know if it's something to do with alchemy, but…"

Roy forced himself to exhale, relaxing himself after seeing that. Only experience in the war, experience with burned, melted skin was able to keep him from getting sick.

"I don't know about it… Where is Alphonse?" he finally asked, noting a significant lack of the now-older brother.

Winry sighed, pointing upwards. "He's upstairs with Granny, second door to the right… when you go in, don't turn on the lights," she hesitated, still looking at Ed, "Don't make any loud noises, or any sudden movements. Don't touch him. Don't do anything that could scare him."

Roy raised his eyebrows. "Is he that bad?"

Winry shook her head. "He spent five years inside that suit of armor. He's forgotten everything about being human."

"I don't think he's forgotten how to be human," Hughes interjected, meeting Winry's eyes when she looked up at him, "Sure, the physical things— feeling, eating, sleeping—but there's more to being human than just that."

There was silence after this, nothing to fill in the gap, so Roy nodded towards the two and excused himself from the operating room. He headed quickly up the stairs, following Winry's instructions until he made it to the right door. Composing himself for a moment, Roy knocked as softly as he could.

There was a moment's silence before a small voice answered his knock.

"You—You can come in. It's okay—"

As quietly as possible, Roy opened the door, stepping into the room, and—seeing how bright the hallway light was when it flooded into the room, shut the door quickly behind him.

In the darkness of the room, Roy could just make out Alphonse's silhouette sitting near the window, peeking out through the drawn curtains. Pinako Rockbell stood by the bed, holding a tray of some sort. She shot Roy a long look before leaving the room.

Al glanced away from the window, looking up to meet Roy's eyes. One couldn't imagine Roy's relief when it wasn't the shape of a suit of armor looking back at him, but a young man.

"I'm sorry—" Al's voice rose to a high level, cracking for a moment before he brought it back under control, "—I'm sorry about the lighting. It… it hurts my eyes, so, we just turned it off for right now. I'll eventually get used to it again. It's really nice to see you again, Colonel. Umm…"

Roy shrugged lightly, squinting through the dark as he made his way slowly, carefully through the room. He sat on the bed opposite of Alphonse, but despite their close proximity, he still couldn't make out his face.

"It's quite alright, Alphonse," he said gently, crossing his legs, "And I'm a Brigadier General now."

Alphonse visibly started, his outline shifting uncomfortably. Roy could see he was seated in an oddly shaped chair, a thin sheet wrapped around his body.

"I'm sorry Col—General," Al continued sheepishly, shaking his head. In the small light coming in through the window, Roy caught a glimpse of familiar golden eyes. "I called you because I thought you'd like to know we were still alive. I didn't think you'd come all the way out here to see us."

"You and Fullmetal are a part of my staff as much as Havoc, Hawkeye, and the others," Roy said, "You in particular just don't come with paperwork."

Alphonse laughed, small and weak, but not as tinny as it once had been when he was nothing more than an empty metal shell. He ducked his head, as though he had done something wrong.

Roy continued with a deep breath. "I'm also rather wary about the phones in Central. Since Hakuro became Fuhrer, he's been rather suspicious of me."

"If he's suspicious of you, why did he make you a general, then?"

Roy pursed his lips. "I imagine it's a case of "keep your friends close, and your enemies closer." He's putting me on the spot to keep on eye on me. Also, I am a favorite among the public, so discharging me is probably a good way to win public distrust. Your brother, too—"he gave Alphonse a narrow look, "I'm certain he is safe from punishment, considering this, as well as the fact Hakuro owes Fullmetal his life as well."

Alphonse nodded. "That's good news. I've… I've been worried about that." The dark note in his voice told Roy that he wasn't planning on letting his brother meet a firing squad for any reason. He had already been making plans for a quick getaway, Roy figured.

He leaned back onto his hands, letting himself relax a bit against the bed spread beneath him. Alphonse tipped his head, his outline shifting slightly again so that he was watching Roy closely. Roy couldn't see his eyes, but he didn't need to in order to imagine the scrutinizing look the fourteen year old was giving him.

"I would like to know the whole story," he said finally, cutting straight to the chase, "About how you and Fullmetal ended up this way."

Alphonse was silent for a moment, and then he leaned all the way back in his seat, dragging up one arm to scratch his chin. Roy could see through the darkness enough to tell that the arm was painfully skeletal, nothing more than a bone with a thin layer of skin. Not one ounce of fat or muscle.

"His true form was probably what startled Brother so much," Alphonse began slowly, his voice thoughtful and… detached? Roy let his eyebrows climb. Certainly something like this would call for emotion? Or maybe he was reading too deeply into it?

"True form?" he asked, breaking Alphonse's musings.

"Envy," Al said quickly, to fill him in, "Envy and Brother were fighting… Brother couldn't use alchemy at all, because it might have destroyed me. I'm not certain how it happened, but he got the upper hand for a moment, and he was beating Envy up, punching him over and over. I thought he was going to crush Envy's face in. I couldn't stop him. I don't think I would have either, if I could."

Al fell silent for a moment, taking a deep, shuddering breath to get his thoughts together. "Brother kept yelling for Envy to "stop jerking him around" and to "show his real face" and Envy kept changing his face, until he finally… he finally showed us what he really looked like…"

Roy raised his eyebrows, trying to imagine what the green-haired teenager might have truly looked like. He didn't need to imagine long however, because Al continued the story in an introspective sort of tone.

"It's kind of strange… I suppose we should have known our father was the source of all this trouble. He began the whole thing nearly 400 years ago…"

Now Roy was confused. "Your father was Envy?"

A harsh laugh, nothing like the sheepish giggle from before. "No, no. Nothing like that." Alphonse went on to explain the story—Hoenheim's affair with Dante and how their child had died of mercury poisoning. He explained carefully how the two went body-hopping, revealing how they were still alive after all those years and how Hoenheim had created Envy in an attempt to bring back their child— how Envy had grown up rather resentful of Hoenheim and his sons.

By the end of the story, Roy didn't have to listen hard to hear the choked sobs coming from Alphonse. They were dry, as though he didn't have enough water in his body to spare for tears. Worried for his health, Roy raised up a soothing hand.

"Alphonse," he began quietly, "We can continue this at another time if it's upsetting. Perhaps when—"

"No—" Alphonse said, gasping down the next plaintive sob, "—No, I've just haven't talked about this yet, I haven't really been able to think too much on it yet. I only woke up a few days ago, see…"

Roy nodded, dropping his hand and waiting patiently for Alphonse to regain his composure. It only took a few more minutes before the teenager was able to continue.

""Brother, he—he was really shocked. I don't know, it was just natural hesitation I guess, because he stopped—I don't know if he could have killed Envy, with him wearing that face—"

"Like Hughes hesitated when Envy turned into Gracia," Roy filled in quickly, giving Alphonse something tangible to use as an example.

"Yeah—yeah, like that, 'cept…" Al went silent for a moment, "except… Hughes survived that. Brother—he—he…"

"…He had no room to dodge, Envy just… shoved his arm right through his chest. And he was gone. He was there, and then he was dead."

Roy closed his eyes, feeling his entire body go completely numb. All the thoughts he had, all the terrible fates he had imagined for the brothers while they were missing… nothing seemed to match up to what Alphonse had told him. Edward being dead—gone, quiet, dead—just seemed too_ final_ for him. Sure, he was constantly throwing himself in places where angels feared to tread, but the thought of him actually being gone was just something Roy couldn't really process.

He let himself fall back on the bed, feeling his spine pop loudly in several areas. The sheets smelled odd—like a mixture of blood, sweat, and a newborn's skin.

Alphonse's bed, he noted dimly.

"And I killed him," Alphonse suddenly said, his sobs stopping as quickly as they had started. Roy stilled, opening his eyes and staring up at the dark ceiling.

"I was so angry, I couldn't even think, everything just became like… a buzz in my head. I tore Envy to pieces, just…shredded him. I killed him, and I kept killing him, over and over until he stopped regenerating. I crushed the stone inside his body, and he was gone too. And I didn't care. _I didn't care._"

His voice was cold, cold and steely and… so out of character for him that it made Roy shiver involuntarily. He had always thought of Alphonse as the kinder of the two brothers, the warmer one, the one that couldn't possibly harm anyone or anything, not without meaning to, anyways…

…Unless, of course, it was in Edward's defense.

Alphonse leaned forward in the dark, dropping his hand so suddenly it startled Roy. The motion had no hint of aggression, however, rather taking on a slightly more thoughtful pose.

"What happened after you killed Envy?" Roy asked, sitting up off the bed.

Alphonse shrugged. "Dante fled. I don't know what happened to either her or Gluttony… or Wrath—for all I know, they might still be in the underground city. Rose came back to her senses, and fainted at the sight of Ed. I—" he paused, shifting uncomfortably, "I beat Ed up."

Roy's eyebrows climbed. "You… beat up your brother's dead body?"

It was too dark to see if Al was blushing, but the tone suggested that it was a deep one. "I was um… a little mad at him for dying. I was already angry—so I punched him in the face. It broke his nose. There was so much blood, it was all in my armor—and I punched him."

Roy released a soft chuckle. "It doesn't surprise me that Fullmetal could piss somebody off just by dying."

Al laughed, despite the morbidity of the whole thing, then shivered suddenly. He gestured to the blanket on the bed.

"I'm sorry—could you…?"

Roy waved a dismissive hand, reaching over and pulling the blanket off of the bed and bringing it over to him. When he realized Al was having trouble putting it around himself, Roy reached out to help, then paused, remembering Winry's warning.

"Would you mind if I helped?" he asked, phrasing it carefully so that it wouldn't sound like he thought Alphonse was helpless. He didn't think Al would mind as much as Ed would have—but Roy was quickly learning that Al just didn't vocalize his opinion as loudly as his now-younger brother.

Al hesitated. "Yes—just be careful. My skin is really sensitive, so if it rubs me too hard, it'll hurt a lot…"

Roy gently reached back out to pull the blanket around Al's shoulders, being as gentle as he could. Once or twice his fingers brushed skin—and it felt weird, like a baby's skin right after birth.

"What happened after you broke Fullmetal's nose?" he asked after finishing the job of adjusting the blanket around Alphonse.

"After I was through being angry at him, I… didn't know what else to do but try to fix him. Try to bring him back," Al shifted again, pulling the blanket a bit tighter around him. He seemed to be completely absorbed in staring at his lap. "I activated a transmutation circle using his blood, and all I remember is suddenly being in front of a… a gate. It swung open, and everything… everything was gone. I was gone, and I don't remember anything except for…being warm."

Roy closed his eyes again. "You woke up here a few days ago?"

Alphonse nodded.

With a sigh, Roy stood and paced slowly around the room, careful not to startle Alphonse. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"I take it that the other half of the story—how you and Fullmetal ended up the way you are—is now locked within Fullmetal?"

Al nodded again, his head bobbing in agreement.

"Do you know what state his mind is in at the moment?"

Alphonse ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not… exactly sure. You should ask Winry."

Roy grimaced. If anything, he would prefer not bothering the obviously stressed out girl. "Very well," he began slowly, unsurely, "I shall do that right away. I hate to bring this meeting to a close, but I should head out. I can only stay so long, because Hakuro will start asking questions."

Al waved a hand. "It's okay. Come visit soon, all right? You might actually be able to see me next time."

Roy nodded, walking over to the door. "I shall, within the next week or so."

He let himself out, carefully sliding out the door so no light would come into the room. Unable to help himself, he glanced behind him to see if he could catch a glimpse of Alphonse's face. It was too dark, however, and Al's silhouette had turned back to the window.

Back downstairs in the workshop, Winry was facing away from the door, busy at work on what looked like a metal femur bone for Ed. Every once in a while she would look up at the wall where measurements and diagrams hung, then make little tweaks and changes to the prosthetic.

Roy walked over and stood about a foot away, curiously watching the making process. "I've never fully understood how automail works," he said, feeling her blue eyes look up at him, "Perhaps, if you feel gracious, you could educate me?"

There was a moment's pause, then she sighed, laying the femur down and walking off a bit. Roy resisted the urge to smile—despite any woman's claims, the definite way to her heart was through carefully layered flattery.

"There're differences between automail limbs and things like this. These go inside the body and are fused into place on his bones," she said slowly, her eyes dark, "They won't ever come out unless he manages to break them again, which is doubtful because I made them to be really flexible."

The blonde walked over to another shelf, heavily laden with automail arms of a relatively larger size than what would go on Edward now.

"These are all experimentations on different styles of automail. They were for Ed, but he'll probably need smaller ones now. The ports that are fused to his body translate messages from the nerves into the wiring, and that's what makes those limbs move."

Roy bobbed his head, still slightly confused but not really looking to get Winry into a long lecture on automail. Now that he had her slightly open to conversation, it was all he needed.

"Huh. That is interesting," he said, leaning up against the table all the automail was resting on, "Has Fullme—er, Edward woken up at all?"

"No," Winry sighed, "Not as of yet. It's possible that he won't until he stabilizes."

It was Roy's turn to sigh. "So, you have no idea what his mind frame is like at the moment?"

Winry shot him a confused look from where she stood, quietly working with some wiring to an automail leg. "Mind frame? I'm sure he'll freak out when he wakes up, but—"

Roy interrupted her with a shake of his head. "Beyond that, I mean. I'm curious as to whether he's retained the mind of a fifteen year old or if he's now a ten-year-old in his head too."

Before Winry could answer, Hughes and Pinako came into the workshop, obviously having discussed the exact same thing. Roy shot Hughes a narrow look.

"How much vacation time do you have?" he asked sharply. Hughes frowned, mentally adding up his vacation time that he hadn't spent on "sick days."

"I have about two months saved up, why do you—" he halted mid-sentence, then turned to Winry.

"Miss Winry, you wouldn't mind having a four–year-old underfoot for a while, would you?"

Winry looked even more confused, blinking her big blue eyes for a long moment. "You mean Alicia? Here?"

Hughes sighed and pushed his glasses up a bit further on his nose, leaning back against the counter. He tipped his head back a bit, and then shot Roy a slanted look. Roy took this as his cue to leave, passing through the dining room and outside to the porch. As he shut the door, he could hear Hughes explaining what he had in mind to the Rockbells.

Pinako sighed, shaking her head as she chewed thoughtfully on her pipe. As Hughes finished explaining, she pulled the pipe out from between her teeth.

"You and your family are welcome here, of course. Winry told me about your wife and daughter—it was kind of you to treat her like family. She was worried sick when she heard you had been shot."

Hughes glanced at Winry, who flooded bright red. He grinned, fighting the mischief he so desperately wanted to put in his voice.

"Of course we would treat her like family. After all, it's really the only thing we can do, is it not?"

Pinako hummed in agreement, smiling thinly at her granddaughter. "Well that Mustang character… I don't much like the idea of him hanging around. He might be your friend and I respect that, but he won't cause anything around here but tension, and it's the last thing we need or want."

Hughes nodded. "Of course, Madam Rockbell. He'll come when he can to visit Ed or Al, but his new position will keep him tied up in Central," He checked his watch, "I suppose it's settled then. We should get going."

He started walking towards the door, but Winry was right on his heels as he made it to the dining room.

"Um," she started, "but the next train doesn't come in until tomorrow. Where are you…?"

Winry trailed off, flushing when Hughes smirked. He managed to plaster a long-suffering look on his face.

"I think… well, I'm sure Roy will share the station bench with me. There's certainly enough room…"

"Oh—alright, I'm sorry. You can stay the night here—"

Both Winry and Hughes froze when they stepped out on the porch.

Roy was gone.

"Where—where did he go?" Winry asked, moving to the railing and looking across the yard. Hughes sighed, pressing a finger to his pounding temple.

"I know where he went. We'll be right back."

Down at the burnt remains of the Elric family home, Hughes stopped at the crest of the neighboring hill, staring down at the solitary person standing there, rummaging through bits and pieces of the house that hadn't burned. A piece of rafter, a trinket possibly made by alchemy, the corner of a handmade quilt, small things like that.

Even when Hughes came down the hill and stood beside him, Roy didn't turn around. His shoulders were hunched under his uniform.

"Miss Winry and Madam Rockbell say we can spend the night. Gracia, Alicia, and I will be coming back within the week. _On vacation_.

"Huh. I suppose that's nice, though I deserve the couch—" Roy glanced over his shoulder at him, "—I did spend the night outside. In the cold. On a hard bench."

Hughes snorted, shoving his cold hands in his pockets and darting a look around. His attention was caught by something in one of the piles of rubble and he walked over to it. It was an old metal picture frame, with the glass cracked and slightly blackened. Despite this, a yellowed photo of Edward, Alphonse, and their mother remained mostly intact inside the frame.

"Do you think it's my fault?" Roy asked suddenly, turning a bit. In his hand was an old trinket, an alchemically created toy horse that one of the brothers had obviously made for their mother. One of the legs was broken off and the large head made the whole thing unbalanced. "That Fullmetal and Alphonse are like this? Miss Rockbell certainly thinks so."

Hughes didn't reply, so Roy continued.

"I am the one that first showed up at their place after the transmutation attempt. I gave them false hope to cling to, when I knew full well that they'd probably never make it to a normal life."

Hughes stepped up, passing Roy the old photo. Roy's eyes darkened when he took it.

"Edward would have found a way, whether you chose to help him or not. Chances are, he would have gone around, creating a ruckus as usual, and some other officer would've snapped him up in a heartbeat."

"Hmmn."

"And it's probably a good idea you got there before somebody else did," Hughes continued, rolling his shoulders and giving Roy a long look, "You would never force Edward to pull that trigger."

Roy turned completely, a bleak expression on his face. Despite Hughes' quiet encouragement, something in him made Roy want to curl up and hide in some desolate, far-off place, at least until things got better.

Hughes sighed, dropping a heavy hand on Roy's head. The darker haired man glared up at him.

"You shouldn't agonize over their choices, Roy," Hughes said in response to the glare, "It would probably insult them—namely, Ed."

Roy pursed his lips, and then began walking again.

"Thank you," he said in a low voice to Hughes, "Maes."

Hughes shrugged, striding along behind Roy in silence. Roy glanced at the horse trinket and the photo, and then pocketed both.

The two weary soldiers slowly made their way back up to Rockbell Automail.


	2. Night is Falling

Chapter 2  
"Night is Falling"

* * *

"_Today's a reason for living  
Today's the blood from a stone  
Today's a light from a candle  
Helping us to find our way home."_

"_Sorry" by Our Lady Peace_

* * *

Everything was quiet, the sounds of working and rustling papers outside muffled by the heavy wooden wall that cut off Roy's office from the rest of his unit. Afternoon sunlight filtered in from the large windows, casting odd reflections on the wooden floor and the desk that stood in the front of the office.

Said desk was currently buried in mounds of paperwork.

Owner of said desk was currently buried in the paperwork as well.

Roy cursed mentally, holding the phone to his ear as he signed away at paper after paper, ignoring the triumphant look on Hawkeye's face.

Ring

Ring

Ring

"This could be considered assaulting a commanding officer, you know," Roy said, giving her a narrow look, "I had a nightmare about paperwork last night. The trauma could forever ruin my mental stability."

"I'm certain you'll live."

Ring

Ring

Ring

'_Pick up the phone, Hughes.'_ Roy thought irritably as Hawkeye took the stack of paper he had just completed and left. He watched her leave, then dropped the pen and went to soothing his aching wrist. He had been at this sudden influx of paper since five that morning, when Hawkeye had dragged him out of his own house nearly two hours before his alarm typically went off.

Ring

Ring

Ring

Granted, waking up to Hawkeye was certainly more pleasant than the shrill clatter of his alarm clock. If only that ever-present gun hadn't been pointed in his face the whole time…

Ring

Ring

Ri—

"Hello?"

"About damn time, Hughes," Roy growled, sitting up in his seat and quickly pulling more paperwork towards him as Hawkeye came back. "I've been calling forever."

"I'm sorry—" Hughes didn't sound it, "I was a little busy. Somebody sounds like he didn't get a full night's sleep."

"I got plenty of sleep," Roy countered, darting Hawkeye a glare as he switched the phone to his other ear, "I've just become the dumping grounds for paper around Central. I thought the higher up you got, the less paperwork there was?"

"I think that only counts if you're the Fuhrer." Damn Hughes, he was laughing—or at least trying to muffle his laughter. Roy sighed.

"I haven't received word from the Führer about his decision regarding Fullmetal."

Hughes was all serious again, his laughter whipping into nonexistence. "Judging from your bluntness, I'm can safely assume that Fuery's gone through and debugged the phone lines?

Roy finished off another stack, pushing it towards Hawkeye and receiving another one in return. "I make him go over them every morning and evening. How are you three settling in there?

As if on cue, there was the sound of Alicia giggling madly in the background, followed closely by Winry saying something to her.

"Alicia absolutely loves it here. The cutest thing happened yesterday—one of the farmers brought over his pony and let her ride it! _With a cowgirl hat on!_"

Roy rolled his eyes, ignoring his gut feeling that he had just started something he probably shouldn't have. "And the Rockbells?"

"…absolutely adore my little angel! She wants to be a mechanic now, just like Winry! You should see her at work on the toaster…"

The lead to Roy's pencil snapped. He glared at it and moved to pick up another one, making a mental note to keep an eye on who made the military's cars in the future.

"And the brothers?

There was a two second pause. "No change. Al's fine, I suppose. Gracia's company is doing wonders for him. Ed still hasn't woken up."

Roy paused in his writing, closing his eyes for the barest moment to fight against the despair welling up in his chest. "I see. I'll let you go then. The Führer is going to be here with a journalist. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to corner him."

Hughes laughed. "Play it that way, old dog--!"

Roy stood sharply, nearly knocking his work into the floor. He slammed the phone down harshly onto the receiver, giving the whole set-up a murderous glare.

"I am _not_ old."

Hawkeye glanced up from the piles of paperwork that lined his desk.

"Of course not sir," she said, her voice somewhat patronizing, "Are you planning on going somewhere?"

"The work will get done," Roy responded on automatic, heading quickly for the door before Hawkeye could decide to accompany him, "I'm going to find Hakuro and badger an answer out of the man. I'm sick of leaving messages with his secretary."

Hawkeye snorted derisively, letting Roy know exactly what she thought of his relationship with Hakuro's secretary. He smirked, slipping quietly out of the office. Everyone in the outer office looked up as he left, Havoc biting the end of his pen thoughtfully.

The dark-haired man wound silently through the maze of hallways towards the center of the building, where the Fuhrer's office was. The occasional soldier standing in the corridor would stop, salute, and say "good day, General Mustang," but he merely tipped his head to them without a word. Thoughts rushed through his mind and he tried desperately to organize and make sense of much of it, but it all bungled and seemed to pass right out of his grip.

Roy turned the next corner, and found himself face to face with the Fuhrer, his wife, his two children, and an excited journalist. He smiled wide, and then wiped it quickly off his face before it could be spotted.

"Sir!"

* * *

Hawkeye looked up as Roy came back into the office. He looked his usual, cool self, but to anyone with a trained eye (and Hawkeye had two of those) one could see his shaking hands, paler than usual face, and sweat gathered at his brow.

"Sir?" she asked softly, feeling a tiny bit of dread she had been quashing down slowly start to break free of the tight grasp she had kept on it. "Sir… what did he say?"

Silence, for a long moment, then Roy bobbed his head slightly, wiping his forehead clean as he made his way over to the desk.

"I'm going to barbecue Fullmetal when he recovers," he finally muttered, flopping down into his leather chair. Hawkeye relaxed, closing her eyes for a moment before approaching his desk as well, the papers in her hands ready for signing.

"He's writing up an official pardon as we speak," Roy continued, taking the papers wearily, "to head off any official investigations. He feels he owes Fullmetal his life anyways, and persecuting the people's alchemist isn't exactly a good idea so early in his career."

Roy picked up his phone again, settling it on his shoulder as he swung the rotary dial around. Thankfully, Hughes didn't take forever to pick up this time.

"So you called back to hear about Alicia's newest exploits in the wild countryside? I tell you, she'd make a perfect little cowgirl—!"

"They're safe," Roy growled, then slammed the phone back down before Hughes could utter another word. Hawkeye grimaced.

"Is it necessary to slam the phone onto the base like that, sir?"

"Yes."

Hughes glanced down at the receiver, laughing sharply when he heard the familiar bang of Roy hanging the phone up. With a gentle click, he dropped the Rockbell's phone onto it's base and quickly trounced off to spread the good news.

On his way to the workshop, where Winry, Pinako, and Alicia were, he passed by Gracia holding a tray of food. She was about to head upstairs to Al's room, so he quickly wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her in close to him, stealing a kiss.

"Roy just called back. They're safe," he said with a grin. Gracia heaved a sigh of relief.

"That's good," she responded, putting the tray on her other shoulder and stepping up on the first stair, "Hurry and tell Winry. She'll be so relieved."

Gracia continued her trek upstairs, careful to balance Alphonse's lunch and the small lamp she had brought with her. Carefully ascending the landing the landing, she quietly made her way down the hall.

She supposed her attempt at keeping down the noise level was useless, seeing as she didn't even have to knock.

"Come in, Miss Gracia!"

With a sigh, Gracia opened the door and entered. As usual, the room was almost completely pitch black, save for the small slat of light coming in from the window. Alphonse's outline was visible beside the window, resting his wheelchair.

"I feel like I ought to start wearing slippers coming up here," Gracia laughed quietly, stepping forward and resting the tray on Alphonse's lap. She found his hands, thin and trembling, and guided them to his utensils. "You already know I'm coming before I can knock."

Alphonse laughed too, and Gracia could hear the tinkling of his silverware as she sat down on the bed opposite him. "The hypersensitivity in my ears is fading quickly, so don't worry about it."

There was a pause. "What's this, Miss Gracia?"

Gracia laughed. "Lemon pepper chicken, Alphonse. Is it good?"

"Amazing!" Alphonse laughed, shifting slightly in his chair, "It's very good, Miss Gracia! It's been so long since I ate this…"

Gracia chuckled, then pulled the lamp into her lap. "I brought this for you. I thought maybe it could help you re-adjust to the light."

She turned the lamp on to it's lowest setting, illuminating the previously black room and filling it with a soft, golden glow. She looked up, but Alphonse's features were still obscured by deep shadows.

"You can set it as high as you want," Gracia said, setting the lamp on the windowsill at Al's elbow. "Turn it up higher to adjust yourself to the light."

"Thank you, Miss Gracia. That's going to be so helpful…" There was another long pause, then Alphonse sat down his silverware. Gracia couldn't see his face, but she could feel the weight of his gaze on her. She closed her eyes and looked down.

"Your brother still hasn't woken up," she said softly, "There's been no change with his condition."

Alphonse sighed, and flumped back heavily into his cushions. Gracia looked up worriedly, biting her bottom lip for a moment, then decided to try and make lighter conversation.

"Alicia still wants to see you. She's been bugging Maes and I everyday, "I want to see bigger brother Al, I want to see bigger brother Al!"

Al chuckled weakly. "I'd like to see her too. It'd be really nice to see a lot of people right now."

Silence. Gracia folded her hands in her lap and sighed.

"Edward will be fine, Alphonse. Even if he isn't the same as he used to be. What he wanted was for you to be able to go on with your life as normally as you could lead it."

"He's not dead, Miss Gracia," Alphonse said in a slightly frustrated tone, "You shouldn't talk like he is."

"I'm not," Gracia responded automatically, "I'm just saying that while he's in that coma, he wouldn't want you to go back downhill, nor would he want you to suffer."

There was silence again. Alphonse sighed.

"It's just frustrating Miss Gracia. I thought… after all of this, we'd be able to live normally. Now, I don't know how long I'm going to be stuck like this, and I've got to find a way to fix Brother. He did the same thing for me…"

"It's frustrating, Al," Gracia said slowly, "But you're going to have to be patient. Edward spent that whole year recovering from his automail surgery, and he did manage to put you back in your body. It'll just take some time."

Gracia held up her hand, leaning toward Alphonse. "I'd like to be able to see your face actually. Can I…?"

Alphonse was quiet for a moment, and then he leaned forward, taking one of her hands in his. His hand was incredibly thin and bony, and it trembled hard as he dragged her hand over and pressed it against his equally bony cheek.

Gracia lifted her hand up to his forehead, then trailed it down over his face. Fingers mapped out every square inch of skin, feeling down the hollows of his eyes, over the bridge of his nose, the crest of his lips, and down his chin. Alphonse shuddered and withdrew finally, leaving her hand in midair.

"I'm sorry Miss Gracia. It just starts to hurt after a few moments. I'll get used to it soon, I promise."

"Well, soon I won't need to touch you to see you," Gracia laughed, "But you should worry more about eating right now. It's going to get cold."

"Oh—!" Al picked up his silverware again and began eating. After a few moments, he laughed again. "This is something I _can_ enjoy, Miss Gracia. You cook very well!

"Thank you, Alphonse!" Gracia laughed, then went back to a lighter conversation.

Downstairs, Winry was quietly working on Edward's automail, bent over a magnifying glass as she affixed wires into the finger joints of the automail arm. She was explaining to Hughes how the automail worked, being careful not to accidentally breathe too hard and knock the wires out of whack. Using one of the operating tables in the corner, Alicia was determinedly taking apart a toaster, dressed in a set of Winry's old overalls.

"And I'll just fuse the steel ribs onto his bones during surgery," she continued, glancing up for a moment when Alicia whacked the side of the toaster with a wrench, "No scarring, either. You won't even be able to tell he had surgery there… well, unless you stick a magnet to him, or something…"

Hughes snickered, and Alicia looked up irritably from the toaster.

"I wanna help! Toasters are boring. They only make toast."

Winry hummed something that sounded like "Oh my god" under her breath, still staring at the wiring of the automail. "I don't think that's such a great idea. You might get a bit scared…"

"I wanna help! I want bigger brother Ed to get better too!" Alicia whirled around to her dad, furiously wiping at the oil stain that was splatted artfully on her cheek, "Please, please, please, please, please, Daddy?"

Hughes melted under the puppy dog eyes Alicia sent him, grinning slightly. "Wellllllllllll… You should ask Winry. I'm not in charge of the surgery here…"

Alicia turned back to Winry, bottom lip trembling. Winry glanced away from the wires for a moment, grimacing at the look Alicia was sending her. She looked back at the wires.

"I guess I was about your age when I started working with automail. You can stay in the room, then. That way, if you don't like it, you can leave."

Alicia squealed in excitement and dropped the wrench, quickly rushing off to find her mother and spread the good news. Hughes turned back to Winry.

"Her age, hmm? You've been doing automail for a long time. It's no wonder you're so good."

Winry flushed. "I was younger, technically, since I've grown up around it all my life. I was already semi-experienced by the time I got to work on Ed's automail the first time. My mom and dad were automail technicians too."

Hughes was quiet, watching as Winry worked on the complex arrangement of wiring in the automail arm. It had been a week since he and Gracia had moved in to help with the brothers, and Winry was already in much better shape and in much higher spirits.

"_Granted,'_ Hughes considered, glancing back at the toaster Alicia had smashed up, _'She could just be doing it so as not to worry Alicia. She is that considerate.'_

"Ah…" Winry pressed a wire into it's correct spot in the pinky finger of the automail, using a small band to hold it in place, "I wanted to thank you, Mr. Hughes… um, for dropping everything and coming out here for us."

Hughes smiled, peering over his square glasses at Winry. "No need to thank me." He responded simply, pulling out his camera and snapping a picture of the toaster Alicia had derailed, "We wouldn't have let you suffer through this by yourself."

* * *

"I see. Thank you for calling ahead."

There was a long pause. Everyone in the office—Hawkeye, Havoc, Breda, Falman, and Fuery— all looked to their boss. Roy did not look back at them, staring intently at Fuery's desk as the younger soldier fiddled with a busted radio. He chewed quietly on his lip—a nervous habit he kept forgetting to break himself of.

"I can assure you it will be taken care of."

Another pause, then nodded briefly and dropped his phone back on the base. He let a brief grimace cross his face before he straightened up, squaring his shoulders and turning back to his staff.

"Well, apparently," he drawled, stepping up with his usual smirk, "there is an _organized_ group of Ishbalan renegades on the loose. They aren't satisfied with the efforts being made to rebuild their country and are looking for blood."

Everyone stared at him varying degrees of horror—if Hawkeye's usual, grim stare could be considered horror.

"They've been tormenting East City for the past month," Roy continued, "but they weren't considered much more than a nuisance until yesterday. They made an attempt at bombing the headquarters there. Rumor has it that they are also being assisted by embittered Liorians, and maybe a few Drachmans from the Northern Campaign."

Havoc crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

"Jeez," he muttered with a shake of his head, "dealing with Scar was shitty enough… Please tell me they plan on staying in East City."

"…And they called to tell us that they're on the way here," Roy continued with a smirk Havoc's direction, "Sorry to disappoint, Major."

Havoc and Breda groaned as one.

"Damn it," Havoc grumbled, "I don't _like_ insane Ishbalan terrorists."

Roy smiled in response. "I think we should let them come, actually. Maybe they'll get the Fuhrer."

Hawkeye finally moved, uncoiling slightly like a snake. "Sir…" she growled threateningly.

Roy quickly backpedaled. "…or we could immediately start taking precautions. That's the right and proper way of doing things, correct Major?"

Hawkeye stared at him.

"Alright, let's have security tightened around here," Roy continued, meeting Hawkeye's gaze unblinkingly, "Fuery, make some phone calls to General Maxwell here, then to everybody in the other cities in case they decide to bypass Central and go there instead. Major Hawkeye, since you're worried about our beloved Fuhrer's well-being, kindly go to his office and inform him of what is going on, then see what you can do about updating the guard."

Hawkeye and Fuery both went to attention at once.

"Yes, sir!"

"Sir!"

Fuery darted out of the office to the switchboards, Hawkeye right on his heels, and Roy waited until her footsteps had gotten down the hall before making a face behind her.

Roy turned with a thin smirk to the others. "Before security has a strangle-hold on Central, I should go down to Resembool to see Fullmetal and Alphonse."

_

* * *

_

Back in Resembool, nighttime had fallen. Rockbell Automail was quiet, everyone having gone to bed nearly an hour before. The only light in the whole house was the operating room light, where Winry stood at the window, folding a towel over her arm.

After a long while, Winry sighed, her breath freezing on the window. It was getting colder and colder outside as the weeks progressed, and there was still no sign of Edward waking.

"I'm going to have to get the heater cranked soon, Ed" Winry said, leaving the window and dropping the towel on Ed's bedside, "You're going to start feeling the cold through those walls. It might even snow."

Edward's breath didn't even hitch. He remained peacefully asleep, eyes shut and chest rising and falling far more rhythmically than it had been before. Winry leaned over, feeling his forehead.

"No fever," she said softly, sitting back up and staring wistfully down at Ed, "That's a relief, at least. Everything looks normal, considering the circumstances. I'll guess I'll see you in the morning."

Winry waited a long moment, then sighed and reached over again, kissing the blonde in the middle of his forehead. She tucked his covers carefully around his shoulders, and then turned to leave.

She stopped in the doorway, hand resting on the light switch.

"Alphonse says good-night too. So does Granny, Alicia, Gracia, and Mr. Hughes. We all miss you very much, Ed."

There was hitch in Edward's breathing, a slight rasping noise. Winry tensed up for one moment, nearly turning, but not wanting her hopes crushed.

And it was a good thing she didn't, for Ed's breathing went straight back to normal. Winry forced herself to relax, feeling bitter tears rising. She swallowed them down and flicked off the light.

"…'night Ed," she whispered.

"Winry…"

The voice was small and hoarse, as though it had not been used for a long time. Winry stood stock still in the doorway, hand still on the switch. She couldn't bring herself to turn it on or turn around.

'_It has to be my imagination,'_ she told herself, _'Just my imagination.'_

"Winry…?"

The voice again, weaker and far more feeble.

"Ed…?"

Winry swallowed, then flicked the light on and whirled around, fully expecting Edward to still be lying prone, sleeping as he had for the past few weeks.

Indeed, he was lying in the exact same position Winry had left him in. She almost felt herself despair then and there, but she quickly realized his eyes were wide open and staring at the ceiling, his mouth agape. His breathing had gone from drawn-out and rhythmic to short, frenzied gasps.

"Winry—" he whimpered between gasps, and that was all it took for Winry. She rushed immediately to Edward's side.

"Oh my god," she cried out, forcing herself not to grab the blonde and shake him, "You're awake. Ed—you're- you're awake! I was scared you'd never—"

The tears fell and her shoulders heaved slightly, but Winry found herself uncaring as she tightly clutched the edge of Ed's blanket in her fists. She stopped just long enough to remember that she was the only one awake.

"You're awake—I've got to wake everybody else--!"

Winry whirled around and ran to the door, leaving Edward gasping for a moment.

"Granny! Granny! He's awake! Ed's awake! GRANNY! Mr. Hughes! Gracia!"

There was a choking sound behind her, and Edward's harsh breathing suddenly stopped. She turned back to see Edward's face covered in blood.

Winry ran back, grabbing the towel she had set on the bedside and using it to mop away the blood Ed had coughed up. When the blonde boy continued to cough it up, Winry wrapped her arm around his shoulders and lifted him to a sitting position to keep him from choking. His small, pale-skinned hand snaked up and clenched at her sleeve. He refused to release it as he coughed blood into the towel.

Winry ran a hand through his short blonde hair, looking up as Pinako ran into the operating room, wearing her night gown and a heavy bathrobe. Her night-cap was skewed over her gray hair.

"What on earth are you shouting—" she was cut short as her eyes fell on Edward, sitting up and wide awake, "—my goodness, Winry!"

"Granny, he's awake!" Winry responded, then turned and indicated the sink with her chin, "Bring me a glass of water!"

Pinako didn't hesitate, moving quickly to the sink and pouring out a glass of water. She passed it to Winry, who carefully tipped Ed's head back and helped him sip the water. After he had drained half the glass, Pinako leaned forward to inspect the small blonde.

"Hey, you bean. How you feeling?"

Winry flinched, ready for—despite his poor condition—a huge spastic fit from Edward about his non-shortness and how he wasn't a bean and how Granny Pinako was nothing more than a flea compared to him—all that stuff she normally would have hit him in the head with a wrench for, but now would hug him to pieces for.

Instead, he just whimpered, turning his head away from the glass. Winry stared unblinkingly at him for a moment.

"He's in pain," she finally concluded, with a mental stupid-slap, "_Of course_, he's in pain. Granny—"

Hughes suddenly stumbled in, glasses half askew on his face and still in the process of pulling up his pajama pants. Gracia was right behind him, and she was followed closely by Alicia, tottering behind her mother in a white nightgown with rubber ducks embroidered on it.

All three froze in the doorway, staring blankly at Edward, mouths agape. Gracia was the first to come to her senses.

"Edward?" she asked in surprise, venturing around her husband and moving to the other side of the bed, "Edward, sweetheart…"

She gingerly sat on the side of the bed, taking the tiny blonde from Winry's arms, leaving her free to go and get some painkillers. Gracia laid Edward against her chest, rocking his gently and pressing a hand against his forehead. He relaxed a bit against her, eyes closing a bit.

Hughes shook himself out of his stupor, stepping out of the doorway as well. Alicia was right on his heels. Hughes picked his daughter up, lifting her to the edge of the bed so that she could see Edward a bit better.

"Bigger Brother Ed?" Alicia asked the pale blonde. Edward didn't answer, golden eyes blank and staring out at nothing. His mouth was gaping wide, as though he were suffocating.

Winry came back over with a small glass of water, some pain medication crushed up inside it. Sitting on the edge of the bed by Gracia's knee, she put the cup up to Ed's lips.

Ed jerked his head back and turned away—an obvious refusal.

Winry pushed the cup closer to his face. "C'mon Ed, it'll make you feel better…"

Gracia froze, feeling Ed's entire body go limp against hers. For a moment, she had a terrifying, panicked moment where she thought Ed had simply died right there. She relaxed though as she felt his breathing, slow and steady against her body.

"He's asleep," Gracia said, looking up at Winry, "He went back to sleep."

Winry looked upset, but Granny Pinako swooped in quickly, taking the cup from her hands.

"Don't worry too much, Winry. He's woken up once, which means he'll definitely wake up again. He just needs a bit more healing time. Here," She tipped the medication down Ed's throat, forcing him to swallow it, "He might need this if he wakes up later on tonight."

Winry glanced up at this. "I'll stay with him, then, just in case."

Pinako nodded. "You do that. Everyone else, vacate the area! Back to bed!"

Hughes and Alicia simultaneously went into mock salute, and Gracia transferred Edward over to Winry's possession.

"I wanna talk to Bigger Brother," Alicia protested as Hughes picked her up, "Is Bigger Brother Ed going to be okay?"

"Bigger Brother Ed will be just fine, darling," Hughes cooed on his way out, "See, he just went back to sleep. I guess this means you get to sleep with mommy and daddy tonight."

Winry smiled to herself as she listened to Alicia protesting all the way down the hallway, clambering all the way onto the bed and holding Edward against her chest. She used the towel to wipe away the last bit of blood on his face, then tucked the blanket around the,

"If he wakes up again," Pinako said, absently patting her nightcap, "Don't make a huge fuss and start shouting again. Just be as quiet and calm as you can, and try getting him to stay awake for a longer time. And remember not to mention anything to Alphonse until he gets up—otherwise, he'll never get any rest."

Winry flushed. "Yes Granny."

Pinako left after saying their goodnights, and Winry was left alone. The light was still on, but she couldn't bring herself to go and turn it off. Ed felt so comfortable against her that she didn't want to move. With a long sigh, she laid back against the pillows and tucked Edward's head under her chin. Within moments, her eyes were closed.

The house had fallen peacefully silent again.

* * *

"Winry!"

Winry felt her dream slipping away as the hand on her shoulder jostled her gently awake. She grimaced subconsciously, unwillingly opening her eyes. Hughes was standing over her, looking slightly amused. He grinned at her.

"I think you should wake up, Winry. It's getting kind of late."

Winry blinked at him, stretching until she remembered that the slight weight against her was a still-sleeping Ed.

"Late…what time is it?" she asked, looking past him at the far wall. Squinting blearily at the clock, it took several long moments before her brain registered that it was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon.

"OH MY GOD--!"

Gracia looked up as Winry suddenly bolted through the door, hair in a disheveled ponytail and clothing in complete disarray. She laughed, turning with the tray that held Alphonse's lunch.

"Here you go dearie. Just in time for his lunch."

"Thank you!" Winry gasped, balancing the tray on one hand and dancing upstairs. Her other hand tightly gripped the banister.

Gracia laughed, turning back to the counter where she had been preparing lunch.

"You're welcome, sweetie."

Upstairs, Winry slowed down, being quiet as she headed down the hallway. Al's door was slightly ajar—signaling that Hughes had delivered Al's breakfast and had forgotten to shut the door again. The yellow light of the lamp poured out of the room and into the slightly dark hallway.

Winry stepped into the threshold of the room, reaching out to knock on the doorjamb. She smiled softly as Alphonse turned over on the bed to look at her, having just woken up from a nap. She never thought that seeing Alphonse would fill her with such absolute happiness, but seeing him now—even in such condition, hardly able to move without assistance, made her so happy she wanted to dance.

Trying to contain her excitement, she stepped into the room all the way and sat the tray of food on the bedside, helping the still clumsy Alphonse sit up against the cushions. His skin still felt slightly odd, and part of it—including about half his face—was still wrapped up in bandages, but he was definitely an Elric. Blonde hair, golden eyes (the one eye that was visible through the bandages anyways) —it was so obvious.

Granted, Winry thought as she propped the pillows up around Al, he was nowhere near as lightly-colored as Ed. Ed's hair and eyes were pure gold and his body all sharp angles and hard, jagged muscle. Al, smiling as he tucked into the food, definitely had more of a rounded body and a baby-face. His eyes were more of a burnished bronze and his hair was several shades darker than the flaxen gold Edward and his father both had.

"_He always looked like his mother,"_ Winry thought, sitting on the edge of the bed with a smile, _"and Ed always looked like Hoenheim. So different… but…"_

Al looked up from his food and smiled, bright and wide and with very little restraint.

"…_Ah. They both have that smile." _

"Winry, are you alright?" Alphonse asked, tipping his head. His smile faded a bit. "You haven't said anything, and Hughes said you slept in. Are you sick?"

Winry laughed and shook her head. "No, I suppose Mr. Hughes didn't tell you… Your brother woke up last night."

The change Alphonse went through was absolutely spectacular. He went from gently relaxed to a flurry of movement all at once. His tray fell, his glass cup shattering on the hardwood floor. Tea spread everywhere, but Al didn't seem to notice as he leapt to his feet…

…and promptly collapsed, legs muscles unable to hold his weight. Winry caught him, nearly sagging as she did. He wasn't technically heavy, but certainly more than she could support by herself.

"Al," she gasped, winding her arms around his waist. He was so much taller than her… "Al, for crying out loud, where were you planning on going in your condition?"

Al frowned, trying to hold himself steady and pull Winry off at the same time. "I want to see my brother!"

Then an interesting thing happened.

Winry heaved him back, towards the bed in the hopes of managing to get him to tumble over on the mattress, and he had pushed forward, in the dire hope that he could pry Winry off him. The result was him falling over backwards; legs up in the air, but his grip on Winry meant that she came over on top of him.

Al stiffened. He hadn't had anybody be exactly this close for such a long time, it was all strange to him—not excluding the fact that her hips were pressed up against his very oddly, and their faces were barely an inch apart. She stared unblinkingly at him, breath held.

Al flooded red. "Uh—" he let out a nervous laugh. Goodness, didn't he sound like an idiot?

Winry didn't feel too much better. Her face had turned the color of a ripe cherry. "Right. Um…"

"Am I interrupting?" Hughes said from the door, causing Winry's head to swivel around, as though it were on a pivot, "I mean, I heard something break, so I thought I ought to check on you two… but if you're busy, I can certainly come back later…"

"NO!" Al and Winry twisted apart, simultaneously flooding darker shades of red.

They pointed at each other.

"He made me fall!"

"She pushed me!"

Hughes grinned—a manic grin that wouldn't look out of place on a hungry animal—and snickered. His hazel eyes glittered with mirth.

"If you say so…" he drifted back down the hall as he said this, then got to the landing and called back, "Remember, the safest sex is no sex at all…!"

Winry didn't have a wrench handy, but the shattered base of Al's cup proved to be useful enough to hurl down the hall after Hughes, who laughed as he barreled down the stairs to the safety of his wife.

"Anyways…"Alphonse said slowly, pushing himself up. He rubbed his hip uneasily, a blush still staining his pale, bandaged face. "How is he? Can I see him? What's he said about his trans-"

Winry held up her hands, as though to physically block the questions. "Nothing, Al. He hasn't said anything. He went back to sleep a few minutes after he woke up."

Al's hopeful expression fell and he seemed to completely deflate. Winry grimaced and continued.

"This means Ed'll wake up again, you know. It's a definite. He's not in a coma anymore, just asleep. He'll have more strength next time, so he'll talk to us then."

Al stuck his fork in his food, staring at the pasta hanging off the metal tines. "I guess," he murmured gloomily.

Now Winry couldn't help but feel guilty. _"Maybe I shouldn't have said anything,_" she thought bending to pick up the glass. She tossed it in the bin and used the napkins on Al's tray to clean up the tea. _"To get his hopes up, then crash him like that…I feel like such a—"_

BANG

Winry and Al's heads snapped around at the same time to look out the door, but apparently whatever it was downstairs in the dining room.

"I wonder what that was?" Winry asked out loud, tossing away the napkins and straightening from the floor, "I'll be right back."

She left Al to his food, quietly shutting the door behind her. He claimed he was fine, but Wiry had the uneasy feeling that his ears were still a bit sensitive to a lot of noise.

Downstairs in the dining room, none other than Roy Mustang was standing in the doorway, stamping his muddy boots off on the welcome mat. He swore quietly under his breath, then looked up sharply when Winry coughed to get his attention.

"Sorry about the bang," he said, inscrutable, dark eyes studying her, "It's rather windy—I lost my grip on the door."

He made a downwards glance at his muddy boots. "And it's rather wet. Should I leave these outside?"

Winry reached up to rub at her neck. "Yeah, go ahead. Are you here to see Ed and Al?"

Roy paused in the middle of prying his boots off, glancing up at her. "And to check up on you and your grandmother. You are doing better, of course?"

"Much better. Thank you, ah…" Winry cast a sidelong look at Roy's shoulder, where a muddy knapsack hung off of, "…Those…wouldn't happen to be your overnight clothes, would they?"

Roy dropped his boots on the welcome mat and came in, grimacing as he took his bag off his shoulder.

"Yes… I suppose I could take them to the Laundromat in town…"

Winry reached and took the bag, not caring if her annoyed snort was audible.

"You don't need to walk on eggshells so much. We have a fully functional washing machine here."

Roy smiled slightly, resisting the urge to make a sarcastic salute.

"Yes, Miss Rockbell," he responded automatically, taking the bag back for a moment to fish several books out of it. They were warped from the damp air, but still readable, "Thank you."

Winry hung the sack off her shoulder and walked away with an irritable stride. Roy smiled slightly after her, then stepped into the dining room and shut the door quietly behind him. He cast a look around. It seemed as though with Winry's lightening mood, the house also had lightened. The sun shone in through the large glass windows in the back, causing the hardwood flooring to shine brightly. The warmth felt good as he made his way through the house and into the operating room.

Seeing Ed was as much of a shock as it had been the last time, just a bit of a duller pang and merely caused his insides to squirm a bit. He didn't look nearly as close to death as he had before and his breathing was much easier. He had even regained some color in his face.

Gracia looked up from the book she had been reading as Roy stepped closer to the bed, and the movement caught Roy's eye. He faltered, then continued, standing over the unconscious blonde.

"Ah," he began quietly, pursing his lips, "Gracia. How are you settling in? I asked Hughes over the phone, but I got a rather garbled message about Alicia being a mechanic cowgirl."

Gracia closed the book and giggled, shaking her head. Roy stared at her with a grim smile. He remembered the first time Hughes had run up to him, proclaiming his love for Gracia. He hadn't met her then, so Roy had been expecting one hell of a beautiful, angel-esque woman, because if Hughes cared enough to try, he could get more women than him.

He certainly hadn't expected Gracia. She was relatively simple, cute charm and a mild personality, but she was patient and caring, made a perfect mother, and Roy figured that was exactly what Hughes needed.

"That sounds like Maes," Gracia replied, "We're all doing well. Winry especially."

The patience part, anyways. Any woman willing to stand Hughes twenty-four-seven was a saint in Roy's opinion.

"She does look far better than she did on my last visit. I suppose you and Hughes might have something to do with that."

They were silent, staring down at the sleeping Ed. Gracia looked between Roy and the blonde.

"He woke up last night. All he did was cry for Winry, but I suppose that's a start."

Roy glanced back up, then turned slightly towards the door.

"It's also a good sign he might have his memory intact," he said, glancing back at Ed, "I should go to talk to Alphonse now."

Roy started for the door, then paused—hesitating as he stood over Ed's bed. A heavy feeling settled in his stomach as he reached out and ruffled Ed's hair a bit. Gracia smiled behind her hand as he walked out.

Upstairs, Roy could see yellow lamplight flooding out from the crack under Al's door. He heaved the books he was carrying under his arm, and then reached up to knock on the door.

"Come in!"

Al's voice was not as weak and tinny as it had been when he had visited last, Roy reflected as he pushed the door open, stepping into the room. He stepped in the doorway and grinned, tipping his chin back as he waggled his eyebrow.

"Very nice," he teased, enjoying the flush of red across Al's face. The blonde waved a spastic hand in an attempt to dismiss the compliment.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said in a scolding sort of voice, patting the edge of the bed for Roy to come and sit, "I look like a withered plant, and half of me is covered in bandages anyways."

Roy snorted, accepting the invitation to sit. The bed tilted underneath him as he passed the books to Alphonse. "Funny," he said quietly, drawing up one leg and clasping his hands over his knee, "If I had told your brother the same thing, he would have run into the sunset with that compliment."

Al shook his head, turning the books over to look at their spines. They were labeled "COOKBOOK" and "RECIPES" assortedly, so he flipped open the biggest one to read the inside.

"Or he'd say something completely depraved later on to me," the blonde replied, gaze sliding back and forth over the pages, "You might have gotten an earful for several hours in your office, but I lived with him every day. I never hear the end of things like that. Brother'd feel great about it the first few days, then he'd get paranoid about you again and start cross-examining the compliment for a hidden meaning."

Roy laughed, tipping his head back a bit to throw a look at the ceiling. "I can imagine Fullmetal doing that, believe it or not. But, when I say you're easy on the eyes," Roy picked up a book, throwing Al a serious expression, "You're easy on the eyes. Hard to imagine Miss Rockbell hasn't attempted to kiss you yet."

It was either Roy's imagination or Alphonse's blush turned redder. His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, but he bit his tongue to refrain from saying anything more on the matter. He held up the book in his hand.

"I thought you might like these for some… light reading while you're still confined to your bed. There's not a lot, but they looked like good places to start."

Al hummed slightly under his breath, turning a page. "I've never read these books before, so I'm pretty sure they're not anything from the library. Brother would have had them checked out in a heartbeat. Plus, the one you're holding is on the BANNED list."

Roy shook his head with a smile. "I wish I would have been able to get these much earlier for Fullmetal, but the rank of Colonel wasn't suitable for obtaining illegal books. I only ask you don't get caught with them."

Al flipped through several pages, bobbing his head. "Of course…sir…"

Roy watched him, waiting for anything forthcoming, and then realized Alphonse was completely zoned into the book and had forgotten he was there completely.

"Ah," he said, standing up with a smirk, "of course. I suppose you share Fullmetal's ability to be absorbed into books. I'll leave you to it, then."

Alphonse didn't answer. Briefly, Roy wondered if maybe the brothers were just faking absorption and were actually just ignoring their surroundings in the hope that any annoyance would go away, then figured Alphonse at least was too polite for that. He left Al's room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

* * *

"The thing that scares me is that they're so organized." Hughes said with a frown, "It was only someone being unusually observant that day that they didn't get to blow up Eastern HQ."

It was dinnertime at the Rockbells. Roy and Hughes had dutifully eaten their steak and broccoli dinner before quickly bouncing outside to share a bottle of alcohol Roy had brought with him.

Inside, Gracia and Granny Pinako were eating dinner with Ed. The odd pair had bonded over their care for the Elric brothers—where in other circumstances they might not have. Pinako was a tough old woman who preferred engines and automail over sewing and cooking, which were definitely more Gracia's forte.

Upstairs, Al and Winry were eating together, although Al seemed to be having a time trying to eat and read at the same time when Roy had poked his head in. Alicia was moving back and forth between the upstairs bedroom and the operating room, constantly searching for an interesting conversation she could take part in.

"Scar running around, killing a person at a time was one thing," Roy replied, leaning back against the deck railing. He stared into his half-full shot glass. "It was predictable, and at least he was mostly targeting people who were involved in the Ishbal War. Blowing up buildings with innocent people inside is something completely different."

Roy swallowed down the rest of his glass, pouring himself a bit more. Hughes was leaning into the railing, facing out towards the lawn. His hazel eyes were dark with thought.

"Still," he said after a pause, "Even if they're killing en masse, you could still be considered a high-profile target. You should be a lot more careful."

Roy bobbed his head in agreement. "I know."

Hughes shot Roy a narrow look. "Don't go anywhere by yourself."

"I know."

"Don't do anything incredibly stupid or self-sacrificing."

"Yes, Hughes," Roy growling, shooting the taller man a glare, "_I know_. Cripes, you sound like me trying to tell Fullmetal not to get into trouble. It's no wonder the brat hated me."

Silence lapsed between them. Hughes sighed and reached out, pulling the shot glass out of Roy's hand. He emptied it out in the bushes below the deck.

"Ed is a brat," Hughes agreed, leaning hard against his elbows. The porch railing squealed in protest under their combined weight. "But he didn't technically hate you. Mistrust is more the word, I think, but I'd mistrust you too if you left me as out of the loop as you did him."

"I was trying to protect the two of them," Roy responded listlessly, his single, coal-black eye staring at the paneled wall of the house, "Fat load of good it did."

Hughes pursed his lips, pulling the cup away from Roy's reaching hand.

"Getting drunk here won't help you or them. Besides, I thought I told you not to agonize over their own choices?"

Roy didn't seem to have heard the last part. "I'm not drunk," he glared, making a swipe for his cup. Hughes dodged it easily.

"Not yet, anyways," he frowned, then decided to change the subject, "You don't think the Ishbalans would come after Ed, do you? He wasn't involved in the Ishbal war, but he is still certified as a State Alchemist."

Roy mirrored Hughes' frown, accepting the subject change as he pondered this.

"It's… an unlikely possibility," he said slowly, then slanted a look at Hughes, "You remember, the first sign of anything suspicious going on…?"

"It's sake and sakura blossoms for all of us," Hughes responded on automatic, capping the bottle and setting it by his foot, away from Roy, "To tell you the truth, I rather like the thought of Xing. Getting Ed and Al across the desert in their conditions would be difficult, but…"

"If such a thing is ever necessary, I would have arrangements made for you," Roy said, straightening as Hughes got off the railing, "Don't worry about that. You'd only need to find a way to contact me."

Hughes stepped towards the door, footsteps silent due to the fact he had been standing out in only his socks. He put a hand on Roy's shoulder, leading him in.

"C'mon, old man."

"I'm _not_ old."

* * *

Upstairs, Winry and Al were almost completely silent for once, Al's nose buried in one of his new books. Occasionally he would take a bite from his plate, but that was about all he did. Winry set on the bed with him, quietly eating. She stared at the wall in front of her, her thoughts wandering.

'_I suppose it's only truth that Al would start working to fix things so soon.'_

A distant memory from years before flickered into thought. It was Ed reading after his surgery, either not noticing or simply not caring about the two hunks of metal attached to his body. Certainly, when they would ache Winry would never hear the end of the whining, but when they didn't, Ed spent every waking hour attempting to fix his younger brother.

Winry smiled wistfully at the thought. _'Ed would torture himself to help Al, and Al would do the same for him…I just wish…'_

Another memory, an even older one and cast more in shadow. She was watching the lines in her parents' backs as they walked right out of her life.

Al glanced up from his book finally, frowning as he took in the wistful, slightly pained expression on Winry's face. He lowered the book.

"Winry? Is something wrong?"

Winry's gaze snapped away from the wall and towards Al. She blushed slightly.

"No," she replied, reaching up to adjust her bandana, "Nothing's wrong. I was just thinking… remember when Ed was trying to hold books right after his surgery? He would scream and swear at the automail for not being more useful to him."

Al chuckled, shaking his head at the thought. He had been a rather frightened fly on the wall for that particular tantrum. "Yes," he replied, smiling, "I remember. He eventually figured out that propping books up on his knees was much easier. Thankfully I don't have that problem."

Winry's smiled weakly. "Yes…thankfully."

Alphonse returned to his book, his thin smile turning into a concentrating frown. There was silence for a long moment.

"When do you figure I can try walking again?" he asked finally, not looking up from the page he was reading. Winry shifted on the bed.

"Ah…soon, perhaps. A few more weeks, possibly. It really depends on your weight gain and the condition your skin is in once the bandages come off."

Al bobbed his head. "That sounds good then. I want to be in prime condition as soon as possible."

Winry pursed her lips. "I said you can _start_ walking in a few more weeks. That doesn't mean you're going to be running laps around Resembool."

Al grimaced as she stood up, stretching out a bit. She picked up his plate.

"I'll get us some seconds, if you want."

"That sounds good," Al nodded, turning a few pages in the book. "Thank you, Winry."

Winry didn't reply, picking up her plate and putting them on the tray she had used to carry them up the stairs. She paused in the doorway long enough to throw a glance back at Al. He had not looked up; still avidly staring at the pages in the book, at the alchemic symbols Winry couldn't make heads or tails of.

An image of her parents walking away flashed through her mind again, followed closely by the thought of Ed and Al walking away from their burning home.

'_I just wish… they wouldn't have to leave again.'_

* * *

"This train will only take me as far as East City, but I ought to be back in Central by tomorrow."

It was early the next morning in the Rockbell house, and all was quiet as Hughes and Roy were the only ones awake. Roy stood in the dining room, holding his knapsack and wearing a black sweater and some loose jeans. Hughes stood at the foot of the stairs, dressed in a t-shirt and his boxers. He was hugging himself to stave off the cold.

"I'll call then and make sure you made it in. If you don't pick up your phone, I'm sicking Hawkeye and her paperwork on you."

Roy grimaced, throwing a glare over his shoulder at Hughes as he turned. "Thank you. Your concern for my well-being is duly noted. I'll think I'll be fine, however." He threw a glance at the upstairs landing. "Should I see to Alphonse?"

Hughes shook his head. "He's asleep, so I'll tell him you said bye when he wakes up. From what I heard, Winry had to pry the books you gave him away and beat him with them until he went to sleep. You've started something here again."

Roy returned the slanted look Hughes was giving him with one of his blank expressions, as though he had no idea what the man was talking about. "Sounds like an Elric to me," he replied simply, "Tell him I'm bringing more books with me next time, as well."

Hughes shrugged, moving to head back up the stairs to his and Gracia's room. "Will do, but I'm going back to bed now. Absolutely ungodly hour you pick to leave…"

Roy rolled his eyes. "You're the one who set your alarm to get up when I did. I didn't make you do anything."

Hughes didn't reply as he mounted the stairs, simply waving over his shoulder. Roy turned to leave out the door, but stopped as the operating room caught his eye.

He stared at the door, chewing on his bottom lip in indecision. Den was lying in front of the door, so Roy knew Winry was probably in there with Edward. As he approached, the black dog's tail thumped against the floor.

Roy stopped in front of the door, pushing on it experimentally. It wasn't shut, swinging open a bit more from his weight so that he could come in.

Winry was fast asleep in the chair beside Edward's bed. Weak, morning sunlight poured in from the window and fell upon the sleeping occupants' golden hair, causing it to shine brilliantly. Roy quietly stepped forward, noting the bone-chilling cold that hung in the air and the fact that the quilt Winry had been covered in had slipped off into the floor.

After a long moment of deliberation, Roy reached down and picked up the quilt, then tucked it around Winry's shoulders. The blonde girl stirred in her sleep, but didn't waken as Roy rounded the bed and looked down at Ed. Finally, after watching the small child's chest rise and fall several times, he turned, took a deep breath, and then walked away.

In the wake of Roy's departure, all was quiet.

Ed opened his eyes, staring after the dark haired man. The door fell shut behind him, and the blonde found himself distracted by the confusing, criss-crossing rays of light filtering through the window blinds. He gritted his teeth, trying not to get dizzy as he forced himself to look past the light and the golden dust particles that floated lazily through the air.

Suddenly, Winry stirred again beside him, murmuring something in her sleep. Ed let his head fall back in slight frustration, closing his eyes and falling asleep once more.


	3. Blank Slate

Chapter 3  
"A Blank Slate"

* * *

"_I had a dream - of the wide open prairie  
I had a dream - of the pale morning sky  
I had a dream - that we flew on golden wings  
And we were the same - just the same - you and I  
Follow your heart - little child of the west wind  
Follow the voice - that's calling you home  
Follow your dreams - but always, remember me  
I am your brother - under the sun_

_We are like birds of a feather  
We are two hearts joined together  
We will be forever as one  
My brother under the sun"_

_---"Brothers Under the Sun" by Bryan Adams---_

* * *

"Please don't drop me."

"Al… for the last time, Mister Hughes is not going to drop you. Right, Mister Hughes?"

Silence.

"Mister Hughes?"

More silence.

"Mister Hughes!"

"Right! Right, of course. I would _never_ drop our dear Alphonse. Well, as long as he stops _flailing_ wildly while I'm carrying him down rather _narrow_ stairs…"

CRACK

"OW! That's my head!"

"Then stop moving and he won't whack it into the banister next time!"

"O-o-ow…."

"Geez, I think we might need to fix the banister now…"

"That's not funny…ooooow…."

Gracia chuckled softly as Hughes finally managed to reach the bottom floor in one piece. In his arms was Alphonse, who was currently holding his head where Hughes had accidentally whacked it against the banister on his way down. Her husband was obviously having problems trying to hold the blonde up, even as he stood and waited for Winry to run back upstairs and get the wheelchair.

"Honestly," Hughes muttered teasingly, "I get Winry's point that you needed to gain some weight a month ago, but you're getting to be obese."

Al gave Hughes a pointed scowl, copper-toned eyes narrowed. "I'm not fat," he grumbled, finishing rubbing his head and looking up as Winry's feet thundered to the overhead landing.

Hughes shifted his weight, hoisting Alphonse up some more. "Uh-huh. And the fact that you're incredibly heavy has nothing—"

"Crap— Heads up!"

CRASH

BANG

SMASH

Al's wheelchair came flying down the stairs; rocketing through at such a speed and force that Hughes and Gracia both had to jump back a foot to avoid being caught in the faces with it. Hughes stumbled under Al's weight and fell flat on his bum, eliciting another scowl out of Al when he was jerked around like a bobble-head toy.

Winry came thumping down the stairs quickly, looking sheepish. She was wearing more clothes than usual considering it was now the middle of November—mainly just a black turtleneck instead of the usual tube top she used during the summer months to cover her chest. A pair of old overalls and some clunky-looking shoes topped off the look. Her hair was done up in the usual bandana.

"Sorry," she said, picking the wheelchair up off its side and straightening it out. She fit the pillow she had been carrying into the chair, then reached out to help Al up. "I accidentally dropped it coming down."

"No problem," Hughes replied, dropping Al so that his feet were on the ground. He pushed the blonde up when Winry grabbed his hands; their strength combined enough to get Al on his feet.

Al trembled violently, one knee falling out as he reached for the wheelchair. He slid sideways a little, his legs still too underdeveloped to properly support his increased weight. Gracia reached out to help him, but he stiffened, pulling himself straight up. His legs shook under the pressure.

"I can do it," he said with a tremulous voice, turning himself around on his own. He pushed one socked foot behind the front wheel to hold it steady as he sank down into the cushion Winry had put down into it. After a moment, he pulled his foot out from the wheel and set it in the leg rest.

"See," he said, smiling weakly at everyone, "I could do it!"

Never mind the fact that his whole body now trembled from overexertion, but nobody mentioned it as Winry helped pull a quilt around his shoulders to stave off the cold.

"Of course you can," Gracia said with a smile, taking the wheelchair handles and turning Al to face the operating room. The blonde's tremulous smile vanished and he dropped back, as if he were attempting to hide himself away, despite the fact it was upon his request they were taking him to see his brother.

Winry looked between the door and Al, a deep frown marring her face as she helped Hughes back onto his feet.

"Al, if you don't think you're ready, you don't have to force yourself…"

Al shook his head hard, laying his hands on the wheels of his chair. He looked back at the three standing behind him.

"No, I want to. I really want to see Brother," he paused for a moment, breath hitching, "I'm just nervous, see. Just a bit nervous…"

Al trailed off, staring at the door. A heavy feeling had come over him, twisting knots in his stomach and making his ribs feel like they were crushing in on his lungs. He _wanted_ desperately to see his brother, but he was also terrified. He hadn't seen Ed in about two months, one brother being kept in an upstairs room and the other laying mostly unconscious in the downstairs operating room. He knew from what Winry had told him how Ed looked, but to actually see it was something completely different.

Gracia laid one of her thin hands on his own shaking one, stilling it gently. He looked up at her and attempted to smile.

"It's alright," he repeated, then looked back at the door. He took a deep breath.

'_Like a band-aid,'_ he thought, wheeling his chair forward, _'Just rip it off, get it over with.'_

With some difficulty he got the door open and wheeled himself over the door sill, causing the chair to jolt hard and bounce when it met the concrete floor of the operating room. The room was just as he remembered it too—whitewashed walls, and counters with Winry's automail gadgets and doohickeys all around the room. The one bed was still there, with its most frequent—if not typically unwilling—occupant. Granny Pinako and Alicia stood on one side of the bed, but they stepped away as Al entered.

"Ah, morning Alphonse," Pinako said, smiling thinly at him as she ushered Alicia out of the room. Al smiled back, not moving until he heard the door swing shut behind him, and then all was quiet.

Al stared quietly at the lump underneath the bed covers, not yet moving from he sat in the middle of the room. After a few moments, he looked over his shoulders. The door was firmly shut, and since there wasn't a window on the door, he knew nobody was peeking in.

Slowly, Al pushed the wheelchair forward, pulling it up next to the bed. His heart dropped and he felt ill, as though someone had pulled him apart and put him back together all wrong. A razor of ice settled up his spine.

He cautiously reached out with his shaking hand and ran it through Ed's soft, flaxen hair, then traced his smooth, rounder jaw line. His now younger brother stirred softly, but did not awaken.

Al let his outstretched hand drop to the edge of the bed. His other hand was clenched tightly at his chest. His nails dug into his palm, as though upon bleeding, he would also release the agony in his now constricted chest.

For a moment, he couldn't breathe and when he finally did, his breath came in short, heaving sobs that _hurt_—and oh God, they hurt, but he couldn't stop them from coming. The tears had started and he couldn't stop those either. He felt like a dam that had just broken.

Al stayed in that position, one hand clutching the edge of the bed. It was as though he was lost at sea and the bed was a piece of driftwood he was clinging to. He rested his head on his knuckles, white from the pressure he was putting on the bed, and cried. He wanted to kick, lash out, possibly scream, but he restrained himself to his quiet sobs, all too aware of the others waiting just outside the room.

Several long minutes passed by, moving as slow as an Hour, before he was finally able to look up, sniffing softly. He raised one clenched fist to his mouth, holding it there for a moment to try and regain his jumbled thoughts.

Finally, Al opened his eyes.

A pair of golden eyes were staring right back at him.

Al's soft sniffling stopped, his ragged breath hitching. For a long moment, he thought maybe he was hallucinating, or it was just his eyes being bleary from crying.

Then Ed reached out with his only arm, touching Al's fingers where they were clenched at the edge of the bed. As though he had been burned, Al released the bed and withdrew his hand. Ed blinked, but did not say anything.

"Brother?" Al whispered softly. Reality set in, hard, like a kick in the face, and he leaned forward as far as he could, pressing his hand against Ed's face. "Brother, you're awake…How are you feeling?"

Ed didn't answer; staring blankly up at Al. Al felt some of his previous dread seep back into him.

"Brother," he said slowly, softly, "Ed, it's me. It's Al. How are you feeling?"

His brother didn't say anything. Al cringed.

"Brother? Don't you know me?"

Ed still did not speak, rolling his head so that he was staring at the ceiling. It wasn't really the silence that had frightened Al— it had been the blank expression, and the unknowing, uncomprehending look in Ed's eyes.

"Al?" The door creaked open a bit, and Winry poked her head in, "Al? Are you…."

The blonde girl trailed off when she saw Al's face, red and puffy from crying, then when she Ed lying there, awake. Her eyes widened a fraction, but she didn't say anything.

"Winry, I don't think he remembers me," Al said, monotone, his voice raw.

Winry stood in the doorway for a moment, and then came in, shutting it firm behind her. Quietly, she went over to the counter, pouring out a bit of the pain relief solution her grandmother had bought for the next time Ed awoke. She brought it over to the bed, sitting at the opposite side that Al was on.

"Here, Ed," she murmured softly, reaching out to coax Ed's mouth open. The small child complied without complaint, accepting the solution. When she was finished dosing him, she reached out to run her fingers through Ed's heavy bangs. Ed tipped his head a bit, and then leaned his face into her hand, allowing her to stroke his hair as though she were a mother and he was her child.

"Ed," Winry whispered softly. Ed opened his eyes again, staring up at her with his vacant expression. His eyes, once full of life and fire, were dead. Even the gold color seemed a bit duller than usual. Al felt like he was looking into the eyes of someone with no soul.

"Hey, bean boy. How are you feeling?"

A blank stare. Ed opened his mouth, as if maybe to say something, to snap out an angry response to the weak short joke Winry had cracked. A second later, he snapped it shut, turning his face away and staring bleakly at the far corner.

Winry straightened from the bed, her blue eyes unreadable. Finally, she headed back to the counter, taking a washrag and wetting it in the sink. She wrung it out, then went over to Al. She gently pressed the cloth against his face.

"Here," she said, her voice trembling, "Here, your face is all wet."

She started to help clean away the sticky tear tracks across Al's face. Al let her, knowing she was just mothering him to keep herself from crying.

"General Mustang asked me about it," Winry finally said after a few minutes. She was looking right over the top of Al's head, not yet focusing on anything, "About what he would be like when he woke up. He said… he said Ed might have the mind of a nine year old."

Al swallowed. "I know…He asked me too. Ten year olds know how to talk though, right? Ed would remember me, right?"

Winry nodded, laying the washrag down finally. She looked back at the bed, where Ed had not looked up from his scrutiny of the far wall. She sat on the bed, but the blonde still didn't look up.

"Ed," she began gently, reaching out to cup the side of Ed's face, "Ed, do you remember me?"

Silence.

"Ed, it's Winry," she continued, gently tugging one of his bangs. "And Al. Here's Al, remember? Remember your brother?"

No answer. Ed did not turn his face towards Winry, squeezing his eyes shut so that he couldn't see them. Winry shook her head in disbelief.

"I know he can talk," she said softly, "I know he can. He woke up that first time and started calling my name." Winry leaned forward, trying to get into Ed's line of sight. "Ed? Ed, won't you look at me? I know you can talk, don't you recognize us?"

Despite the fact that his eyes were squeezed shut, Ed reached up with his only hand and covered his face as best he could. He tensed as Winry touched him.

"Ed?" she asked softly, brushing his hair away from his hidden face, "Ed, what's wrong?"

It was too loud. Winry was too loud, Al was loud, and they were too _close_. It was as though, with Winry sitting so close and touching him, the walls were coming in on Ed and the two people beside him were suffocating him, pressing in on his lungs and making it difficult to breathe.

A hand circled around his wrist, trying to pull it away from his face. "Ed? Ed, look at us, please. We're right here—"

Winry dipped low to his ear as she talked, and the sound was deafening to him, his splitting headache pounding even worse. Ed opened his mouth, letting out a silent cry. Tears squeezed out of the corner of his eyes, escaping past his hand and down his face.

Winry and Al went quiet, then Al sagged, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath.

"Well, that's—" he hesitated, his voice weak, "At least I know he has a soul. You can't… you can't cry without one. Maybe it's not Brother's soul… maybe the wrong soul was put in his body. In that case—"

He stopped, feeling his heart skip a beat and his stomach jolted sickeningly. His copper eyes went wide in realization. Winry looked at him in concern, letting go of Ed's wrist.

"Al?" she asked worriedly, leaning forward a bit to look at him closer, "Al, what's wrong with you now? In that case, what?"

Al gritted his teeth. "In that case, I've been wasting time," he leaned forward, pulling the sheets off of Ed's body, "Let me see his back."

Winry carefully—which was difficult, considering Ed was still struggling—pulled Ed up on his side as best she could. The small blonde opened his mouth in silent protest, tears falling down his face. He had uncovered his eyes and was now holding his hand over his mouth.

Winry cringed when she saw the crucified snake that was burned between Ed's shoulder blades. "I already told you about that," she said quietly, looking at Al as he examined his brother's back, "You said it was just where his symbol was burned into his skin—like the one on your shoulder."

Al paid her no mind, frowning as he pulled Ed up just a little more. The look on his now-younger brother's face was enough to make him stop for a moment, comforting the child by running his hand through his hair.

"Yeah…" he finally said, eyebrows furrowing, "But you didn't see this."

Winry moved from where she was sitting, sitting back a little to look at what Al had found. There, in the small of Ed's back, where she had not been able to see for the first month and half of their recovery, was a small circle, white like a scar. It had a bunch of lines crisscrossing through it, and there was an odd, curved line in the center.

Winry's eyes widened in recognition.

"Al, isn't that like the one…"

Al nodded gravely. "That's a blood seal. It's used to hold souls into a vessel. Typically, it's made with blood, but…" Al paused reaching out to touch the seal, then thought better of it, "But… it looks like it's just been burned in, which doesn't really make any sense…"

Al looked confused for a moment, drifting out into space. At the prompting of Ed's flailing arm though, he zoned back and laid his brother back down on the mattress, pulling up the sheets to cover him with. The small child's face was red from crying, so Al picked up the damp cloth Winry had laid on the bedside. Gently, he began patting down Ed's face.

The cool of the washcloth felt good, Ed decided, especially since his face felt puffy and hot. He reached up, snaking his hand around Al's wrist in an effort to keep him from taking the cloth away when he was done wiping away the tear tracks.

Al stopped, staring at the tiny fingers wrapped around his wrist. They were chubby and soft, so unlike his brother's hands, but he couldn't help but swallow down a lump in his throat as he looked at them. Finally, he smiled softly, dropping the rag onto Ed's face and leaning back.

"Here," he said with a thin smile, "There you are…Ed."

Ed lifted up the rag awkwardly with his single hand, then dropped it back over his eyes, cooling the puffiness a bit. The cloth was also helping his headache. He let out a deep breath of relief. Al had backed off and even Winry was no longer talking in his ear. Her hand was tangled in his bangs, gently sweeping through his hair and stroking it all down flat. It felt nice, and it was oddly comforting.

Al watched as Ed's movements gradually become fewer in frequency, and eventually stopped as the blonde was lulled to sleep. His brows were furrowed over his eyes and his expression far away, thinking quietly on his time as a suit of armor.

'_This means I don't have as much time as I hoped,'_ he thought quietly, scratching his chin, _'I don't know how long that soul will remain bound to Brother's body. As long as it does, that means the body will stay in good condition and not rot… and possibly provide an anchor for Brother's soul… where ever it might be.'_

Al sighed tiredly, the movement catching Winry's eye. She gave him a worried expression.

"I think that's enough for the both of us," she whispered, standing up and moving around the bed, "Let's go, and give him time to rest up a bit."

Al nodded, leaning back as Winry took the wheelchair and began pushing him out of the room.

'_I guess this means I've got to prioritize. Brother's soul first… then his body. I just… wouldn't know the first thing about how to find it.'_


	4. Brighter

Chapter 4  
"Brighter"

* * *

"_Maybe this time tomorrow  
The rain will cease to follow  
And the mist will fade into one more today  
Something somewhere out there keeps calling  
Am I going home?  
Will I hear someone singing solace to the silent moon?"_

_---"Gravity" by Maaya Sakamoto---_

* * *

It was around noontime in the Rockbell household, the weak winter sun peeping in through the blinds over the windows, casting odd shadows across the far wall in the dining room. Lunch had just been finished (a steaming pot of beef stew, with Gracia's warm cherry pie for dessert) and everyone had found something to do. Winry, Al, Alicia, and Ed were all in the operating room; Pinako and Gracia were in the kitchen washing dishes, and Hughes was on the phone with Roy.

"He's been awake all week. Not a single word."

Hughes paused after this statement, leaning back a bit so he could see into the operation room. Ed was propped up on the bed with a bunch of pillows, helping Alicia build a block tower on his bed sheets. Alicia chatted away amiably to the silent Ed, who seemed genuinely interested in what she was saying, but not too inclined to talk back.

Beside the bed was Al, book propped on one knee. He was flipping through the pages with one hand, and in the other he held a weight, raising and lowering his arm in a training session all his own.

On the other line, Roy sighed loudly. Hughes could hear wind whipping on his end, along with the occasional conversation passing by, so he figured it was safe to assume Roy was on a payphone outside somewhere outside Central HQ.

"Is that all?" Roy asked tiredly. Hughes pursed his lips, absently shaking his head.

"Alphonse reckons that Ed doesn't have any memories or something. Said something…ah, I don't know. You'd have to get him to explain it. He said something about his soul, or some alchemy gibberish."

Roy let out another sigh, sounding both miserable and irritated. "I would say that things couldn't get much worse from this point, but I would probably just jinx myself." There a short pause, where Hughes could hear wind blowing against the receiver, then Roy let out a loud snort.

"Alphonse _reckons?_ I say you've been down in the country too long. You're starting to talk like them."

Hughes rolled his eyes and turned again, the phone cord wrapping around him as he picked up the base and moved to the window. Despite the sunlight, as limited as it was, there was a thick sheet of frost over the glass.

"Ha ha," Hughes growled, leaning against the wall and staring contemplatively out the window, "I forgot how to laugh. What's wrong with the phone in your office?"

Roy didn't bother acknowledging that he hadn't told Hughes he was at a payphone, knowing full well the man's power of deduction. "Sergeant Fuery found a ton of bugs in the wiring a few days ago. He removed everything he could find, but he doesn't think the phones are safe for personal use anymore."

Hughes hummed lightly under his breath, reaching up to trace a small frowning face in the frost on the window. "Not good news then." He paused, and then added a nose onto the unhappy face, "Though I'm surprised that paperwork-nazi let you out of her sight, particularly since you've run off during your lunch breaks before."

Roy grunted something derogatory under his breath. Hughes listened to the sound of clothes rustling in the wind for a moment before the other man spoke again.

"She hasn't. She's got a hawk's eye on me about a block down from here. I can't do anything without her now. Thanks for that, by the way."

Hughes snickered, mostly to himself to avoid disgruntling Roy further. "No problem. I'm always happy to make sure you're being watched out for."

"More like making sure I get no fun," Roy's voice sounded skeptical, as though unsure of Hughes' true intentions in making sure Hawkeye kept an eye on him, "You realize how hard it is trying to explain the Major to a potential lay?"

"You should get a wife, old man," Hughes responded without missing a beat, feeling no remorse whatsoever, "Then you wouldn't have to worry about things like that. And I wouldn't have to listen to your whining."

"Put Alphonse on the phone before I hang up on you."

Hughes laughed out loud, turning back towards the operating room. He unwound himself from the cord and set both the base and phone down, heading into the operating room.

"Alphonse," he said quietly, so as not to interrupt Alicia and Ed in their play. Al looked up from the book, placing the weight in his lap and closing the book. He raised his eyebrows. "Roy's on the phone. He wants to talk with you."

Al smiled briefly at Alicia and Edward, excusing himself. The blonde pushed his wheelchair across the room, and with a bit of help, managed to get it over the door sill. In the dining room, he picked up the phone, but Hughes didn't stay to listen to their conversation.

Instead, he moved over to where Winry was sitting at her workbench, quietly bending out the metal ribs she had finally chosen to put in Edward's body. Hughes sat across from her, picking up the metal pelvis resting by her elbow. It was light— not what he was expecting, actually, and the part supposed to be attached to Ed's left half of his pelvis had sharp grooves cut into it.

"How is this going to stay in place?" Hughes asked, turning the pelvis over to look at the back side, "Do you cement it to his bones?"

Winry looked up from the ribs, brushing her bangs out of her face. "Cement?" she asked, scoffing slightly as she took the pelvis out of his hands, "Of course not. The chances of cement crumbling and causing infections in his body are way too high, especially considering how active he usually is. No, I graft the metal right into the bone, see—?"

Winry pointed out the sharp grooves in the metal. "When I go to put this in, I'll cut in some grooves into the bone that are laying in the opposite direction of these grooves. That way, it will slide and lock right into place. The sharp edges will cut into the bone, preventing it from slipping out of the grooves. The only reason I should have to redo this surgery is for when he grows out of this size."

Hughes nodded, reaching out to pick up the diagram for the ribs that Winry was following out. The blonde teen quietly measured out the length of one of the smaller ribs with a tape measure, frowning all the while.

"Ribs are a lot easier," she explained, taking a pair of pliers and bending the end of the rib she had just measured. "There are already little holes called costal facets in the spinal column and sternum to connect them to. All I have to do is make sure they are the proper length, or the whole thing will go to waste."

With that, she carefully took what looked like a pair of wire cutters and snapped off the end of the rib she had bent. She measured it out, then nodded in satisfaction.

"I made them all a few centimeters too big," she said, gathering the ribs up into a pile, "That way I can sand them all down to a blunt edge, so they won't cut up his insides."

Hughes nodded quietly, frowning to himself. "Is it just you and your grandmother here as doctors? You seem to be doing a lot of the medical work in Resembool."

"We just do anything prosthetic related," Winry replied, picking up the metal thigh bone, "Automail, bone or joint replacements, things like that. There's a small clinic in town for everything else."

"Of course," Hughes responded, nodding quietly. He hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward on his elbows. "Are you sure you want to do this surgery tomorrow? I mean, it's odd to do it so soon after he woke up, isn't it?"

Winry looked over his shoulder, where Edward and Alicia were now putting together a jigsaw puzzle of a frog sitting on a toadstool. A far-away look appeared in her eyes for a moment, then she shook her head.

"I would have preferred to have done it much earlier, actually. With the condition he was in though, we probably would have lost him during the surgery. As it is, this is probably the best time do it."

Hughes did not answer, turning as well to watch the two children as they put together the puzzle.

Back in the dining room, Alphonse was still on the phone with Roy. He leaned back in his wheelchair, carefully raising and lowering the weight in his hand as he spoke.

"I'm not really sure why he doesn't talk," he said quietly, examining the worn corner of the book in his lap, "I am certain it's not Brother's soul in that body though. The blood seal on his back confirms it, or at least until I can get my hands on something that will tell me otherwise."

Roy's voice was thoughtful as he considered this. "Oddly enough, it makes sense. I'll narrow down my book search then."

There was a short pause, then Roy chuckled.

"It's rather ironic, actually. First, it was your soul in the wrong body, and Fullmetal looking for a way to help you; now, it's the wrong soul in Fullmetal's body, and you're trying to find a way to help him."

Al laughed weakly, putting the weight in the corner of his chair.

"Yeah, it is kind of backwards now, isn't it…?"

Roy coughed lightly, as if to change the subject. "And Hakuro has given you permission to come in as a State Alchemist. It's probably obvious to him exactly what you're going to be researching using the library, so I'd advise you to keep it as low profile as possible."

Al raised his eyebrows. "Like not announcing it to the world like Brother would?"

"Precisely."

Al shook his head again, then cringed, feeling his body slipping down in the wheelchair. With the cushion pushing him forward, it was hard for him to maintain his seat. Al clumsily put the phone on his shoulder and grabbed the arms of his chair, changing his position so that he could properly sit up. Muttering derogative terms at the wheelchair that he wouldn't speak aloud to _anybody_, Al put the phone back up to his ear.

"Right," he said, smiling grimly, "Did Mister Hughes tell you that Winry is planning Brother's operation for tomorrow? She's putting in the bone prosthetics."

"No, he didn't," Roy replied, following it up with a quiet pause, "That's a bit short notice. I don't think I'd be able to come by tomorrow, especially with the way security is around here."

Al winced, shifting to look over his shoulder. He could hear Hughes and Winry talking in the operating room. Ed and Alicia were now fitting together a jigsaw puzzle, Ed clumsily pushing pieces around on the board with his remaining hand. His brows were furrowed over his impossibly golden eyes in concentration.

"Sorry for telling you so late," he said apologetically, looking back at the window. He blinked at the small frowning face etched into the frost, then chalked it up to Hughes, "But you shouldn't worry. Winry's a good doctor, and Ed has gotten much better over the week now that he's awake. Everything should be fine."

Roy hummed thoughtfully. "Still… But in lighter news, I'm glad to hear you've been training yourself already. I suppose that means you're recovering rather quickly?"

Al slanted a look at the training weight in his lap. "Yes, I suppose. Another week of weight gain and upper body exercise, and I'll be on crutches."

"My own mother used to tell me one step at a time," Roy said, his voice light, "I told that to Fullmetal, but I believe he learned to run before he walked simply to spite people."

Alphonse laughed, leaning his head back against the wheelchair. Ed heard the noise and looked up for a moment, briefly interested before Alicia pulled him back to the jigsaw. Al smiled wistfully at the two.

"Yes," he agreed, "And he always ended up with a skinned knee and a bruised chin from falling down so much."

It was Roy's turn to chuckle, but he was interrupted by a voice in the background. Listening carefully, Al could hear Hawkeye arguing with the General.

"Lunch is _over_, sir. We should head back now."

"I still have five minutes, Major."

"Five minutes to walk back and make it to your office on time, sir."

"Why is it that I'm being bullied around so much?" Roy asked incredulously, "I'm getting less respect as a Brigadier General than when I was a Colonel! Is it something in the water?"

Al laughed again, gaze still glued to the face Hughes had etched into the frost. His current position meant that he couldn't reach it, much to his annoyance.

"I think you should listen to her, sir," he said, leaning forward. He still couldn't reach the window. "I certainly would."

"I think you're right," Roy agreed affably, then said in a quieter, less nice voice; "She looks mad as a hornet."

Al snorted, putting both feet on the ground. "Bye, sir."

"Goodbye."

Alphonse could hear rustling in the background of the phone as Roy went to hang up. Suddenly, something occurred to him and he quickly tried to interject.

"Oh—General!" Al called, wincing for a moment when it sounded like the man hadn't heard him and was still in the process of hanging up. A moment passed, and:

"Yes?"

Quickly, before Hawkeye in the background could get more persistent— and everyone knew an annoyed Hawkeye was a dangerous one— Alphonse asked curiously; "If it's so obvious what I'm going to be doing as a State Alchemist, then why is Hakuro letting me join?"

Roy sucked in a sharp breath, then released it slowly. "I don't know, Alphonse. With my best Intelligence officer there in Resembool with you, it's likely I won't find out until later."

Al ducked his head. "Right then. Sorry."

Roy hung up for real this time. Alphonse waited for the dial tone, then slowly dropped the phone onto the base. After a moment, he leaned forward again, moving to get to his feet. Slowly, legs shaking because despite gaining weight, he still hadn't developed any muscle mass whatsoever, Al managed to stand. It was much easier this time thankfully, and it felt odd considering for the last two months, he had been either in a reclining or sitting position.

Looking around to make sure no one was there (because Winry would turn into a banshee upon discovering he was "straining" himself before it was necessary), Al took an exhaustive step to the window. His knees wobbled and he nearly fell, so he leaned against the table that the phone was on and used it as a crutch, holding himself on it so that he could scratch out the frowning face. Beside the empty space where it used to be, he etched a smiley face in the frost.

Satisfied with his work (as feeble and random as it was) Al took an unsteady step back and flopped down into the wheelchair, pulling his blanket back around his lower body. After a few moments, he heard Alicia giggle loudly in the operation room, so he pulled his wheelchair around and pushed it back to his brother's side.

Back in Central, Roy dropped the payphone onto it's hook, frowning at Hawkeye's reflection in the glass booth before turning around. The stern Major stared at him expectantly, standing ramrod straight with her arms at her sides. Roy flicked his single eye over her for a long moment, then began walking back towards HQ.

"Edward has finally woken up," he began after a long silence between them. At the prompting of Hawkeye's raised eyebrows, he continued. "Unfortunately… he doesn't even remember his own brother."

Hawkeye exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a brief moment. Even if Ed had been in a younger body, it would have been enough for him to have his memory intact. If she knew the brothers, Edward wouldn't let Al try to fix his body. It would have been the end of human transmutation for them both.

However… with the mind of a ten-year-old, Edward couldn't stop Alphonse from helping him. Roy certainly wasn't the one to stop him. Hawkeye knew he felt guilty about what had happened to Ed, but he wasn't about to prevent Al from doing it, especially when it meant another alchemist under his command. It was a continuous circle with them, and it was unending.

"How is Alphonse taking it?" she asked quietly, only to be met with a scornful look from her commanding officer.

"How do you expect him to take something like that?" Roy responded sharply, a bitter edge to his voice. He stopped walking, turning to her. Hawkeye met his glare with her own even, unblinking gaze.

Finally Roy was the one to look away. He squared his shoulders and kept walking.

"It's not an easy pill to swallow, but he's managed it so far," he said after a moment's deliberation, "It's harder to tell with Alphonse, but it seems he's determined to fix Edward."

Hawkeye nodded in agreement. "At least they're alike in that aspect. Dealing with Alphonse is a whole different ballgame than dealing with Edward, sir."

"So I've noticed," Roy said dryly, shaking his head. "At least I know Alphonse won't throw a fit in the middle of my office if something doesn't go his way. Or overreact to something ridiculous."

"Of course not," Hawkeye said, a thin smirk forming on her lips. "Alphonse is far more mature than that. He'll just get the rest of the staff to gang up on you, sir."

Roy stared at her incredulously. "I— what?"

"Alphonse has an innocent charm that others will feel the need to protect, sir, particularly from someone such as yourself," Hawkeye said, serious-faced even as she fought to keep from smiling, "and he knows it. I've watched him work that charm on Edward before, sir."

Roy let his shoulders sag, hunching forward irritably. "Don't jinx me," he grouched, setting his gaze forward. The two walked in comfortable silence for a long time as Central HQ loomed ahead of them. The huge, white building practically glittered in the afternoon sunlight.

Roy finally slowed to a stop as they reached the bottom of the steps, turning and looking in the direction of the train station. He couldn't see it from there, but if one strained their ears at the right time, they could always hear the train pulling in and out of the station. Right now, there was a silence in the air.

"How soon do you think you can get me a train ticket to Resembool?"

"How soon do you want to be there?"

Roy loved how she never missed a beat. He grinned brightly at her, countering her absolutely blank stare. Finally, it was her turn to look away, repelled by the sight of too many teeth. She turned on her heel and began walking back down the way they came.

Roy stared after her for a long moment, then shrugged and continued his trek back to his office.

An hour later found him at his desk, turning his increasing piles of paperwork into origami. It was equally productive, he had assured Havoc when the Major looked skeptical (and slightly fearful of Hawkeye's fit whenever she found them) and it dealt with the paperwork in a more enjoyable, relaxing way.

However, these assurances vanished from his mind abruptly when his door opened, and lo and behold—Hawkeye appeared. Before she could spot them, he pushed the two cranes, a lion, a hippo, three pigs, and a half-finished flamingo behind the stacks of paper that had accumulated on his desk.

Hawkeye gave him a Look, as if she knew, then strode forward and handed him a sealed envelope. Roy took it with raised eyebrows, picking up the letter opener at his elbow.

"What's this?" he asked, knowing the answer already even as he broke the seal to the envelope.

"A train ticket to Resembool, sir," Hawkeye said, standing at attention, "You leave at eight tonight and should arrive in Resembool by one in the morning tomorrow."

Roy opened the envelope, glancing in. He frowned. "Two tickets?"

Havoc slanted a narrow look at him. "You're not going anywhere alone, sir. Not with this terrorist group on the loose."

Roy gave her a deflated look, dropping the envelope on the desk as he pulled a stack of papers a bit closer. The origami hippo looked up at him with a blank stare from behind the rest of the papers.

"Major Havoc is going with you."

Roy brightened. Havoc was fun. Maybe a bit mopey when girls didn't fall for his cheap pick-up lines, but at least he wouldn't tail him all over the place—including standing outside the bathroom in wait for him.

Plus he was funny when drunk.

"Please throw away the origami, sir. You have paperwork."

Roy glowered at her, using his arm to sweep the origami into the trashcan beside his desk. He pulled the rest of his paperwork closer to him. It was obvious Hawkeye was trying to refrain from smirking, her lips turned down even more at the corners and her eyes widening a fraction from the effort it took.

"Thank you, sir."

* * *

Back in Resembool, it was almost dark. The sun had long ago vanished behind the trees, casting brilliant pink, purple, and orange lights across the rest of the black sky. Everything was quiet but the sound of laughter coming up over one of the hills.

Winry was pushing Alphonse in his wheelchair over the bumpy, pathway leading from the town to their house, purposely hitting as many of the holes as she could so that Al, holding two paper bags full of groceries in his lap, would bounce up in his seat and giggle harder. Anytime he tried to talk, his voice would shake from all the little rocks they were crossing over.

"I think," Alphonse laughed, grabbing one of the bags before it could fall out of his lap, "maybe going through the grass would have been a lot easier!"

"I'm not pushing you up all those hills, Al," Winry replied, throwing all her weight against the wheelchair to push it out of a rut, "Rocks or no rocks."

Finally the two made it to the small bridge over the creek. Winry pushed the wheelchair up the arch of the bridge, then laid the footrest down so that it wouldn't roll backward. She sat on the edge of the bridge, looking down into the burbling water below them.

They were silent for a long time, but it was eventually broken when Al shifted in his seat. He leaned back into his cushion, pulling his jacket a bit closer to him, then smiled at Winry over the back of his wheelchair. She was wearing a thick jacket and a bright pink scarf she had made herself, as well as a matching toboggan hat, while he was wearing an old flannel jacket, jeans, and a thick quilt was wrapped around his lower body.

"When are you going to accept new patients?"

Winry looked back at him with raised eyebrows. Thoughtfully, she said; "After Ed recovers from his automail surgery, more than likely. It will be easier to do that than have to care for him at the same time as others."

Al nodded in agreement. His bronze eyes were dark with contemplation.

"I'll be leaving for Central soon enough. I didn't know whether or not I ought to leave you to care for him alone. Hughes and Miss Gracia are going back too, when I leave." He said, looking up at the sky to admire the sunset.

Winry looked back at him, biting her lip for a moment. "Are you going to live in and out of the dorm rooms like you did before?"

"There's no real point in buying a house, is there?" Al asked with a sigh, pushing his hands under his blanket, "I wouldn't be spending that much time in it."

Winry tossed her head back, golden ponytail falling all the way to her hips. She stared up at the sunset and was reminded of the cold as an unforgiving, bitter wind brushed past her, bringing goose bumps up on her skin. She tucked her jacket in closer to her and tightened the scarf around her neck.

"If you had a home in Central, though," she finally asked after a moment of quiet, "Would you live in it?"

Al glanced back at her over the wheelchair. She was looking at him seriously, blue eyes inscrutable.

"If… I had a home there, certainly," Alphonse said thoughtfully. He frowned, trying to turn completely around in the wheelchair, "If you're trying to talk me into moving in with Mr. Hughes and Gracia, I really couldn't intrude on them…"

Winry laughed, reaching out to ruffle his copper-colored hair. Al reached up to straighten it back out again as she set back against the bridge wall, giving her a blank look.

"You're just as obtuse as Ed sometimes, you know that?" She grinned at the glower Alphonse sent her, reaching up to lock her fingers behind her head. "What I meant is that I'm going to Central too, after Ed's automail surgeries."

Winry paused for a moment to let this sink in. At the urging of Al's surprised expression, she continued; "I'm going to set up an automail shop in Central. I should get a lot of customers that don't want to travel all the way to Rush Valley, and Granny will see business again here in Resembool. Plus, Ed can recover there and still get Alicia's company."

Al absorbed this quietly, nodding his head in agreement. "That sounds… nice," he said in a distant voice.

Winry smiled from where she sat on the bridge wall, leaning forward and resting her chin in her hands.

"I was also hoping maybe you'd like to spend some time in my spare bedroom. You know, whenever you happen to be in Central."

"That…sounds even nicer."

The two sat in silence for a long, long time after that, sitting back and watching the sky as the rest of the brilliant sunset began fading behind the trees. The future they were just discussing seemed as far away as the stars above, untouchable and unreachable. It seemed as though the rest of the world were gone as well, with any life-altering, important events that might have been happening at that moment put on hold, at least for the duration of their moment together.

On a train headed for Resembool, Roy and Havoc were sitting on opposite benches, trying their hardest to ignore the cold that was seeping in through the frosted over train window. Roy was quietly absorbed in a book and Havoc was smoking a cigarette, playing a game of solitaire. It was rather difficult flipping cards and turning pages with freezing fingers, but both men found the effort worth it.

Suddenly, Roy looked up from his book, blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes to the yellow light of the compartment. Havoc, noticing the sudden movement, glanced up at him as well, eyebrows raised. Roy didn't say anything and looked out the window, focusing on the starry, black sky far above them. The moon was reflected on the window, casting odd shadows across his pale face.

Havoc looked between him and the window, a look of concern flickering across his face. "Uh, Chief? Is there something wrong?"

There was a long moment of silence, then finally Roy looked back at Havoc. He smiled thinly and shook his head.

"Nothing, Major. Tomorrow just seems a little brighter, that's all."

With that, Roy returned to his book, flipping to the next page and leaning back in his seat. Havoc stared at him for a few seconds in confusion, then leant back as well, grinning so that the cigarette was angled upwards. He laced his fingers behind his head, abandoning the solitaire game.

"Sure thing, chief."

Winry finally stood up from the bridge side, the chill proving once and for all it was a force to be reckoned with. She tightened her scarf again and pulled her hat down over her ears, hoping to stave off the cold.

"C'mon," she said, grabbing Al's wheelchair and pushing his footrest back up, "We're going to come down with pneumonia, or something. And the milk will spoil."

Al cocked an eyebrow. "In this weather? No, it's the perfect fridge."

Winry snorted, putting one foot on the wheel axel under the chair and hitching a ride down the slope of the bridge. They were quiet the whole way back, even as the wheelchair went over bumps and holes in the road.

As they came up on Rockbell Automail, it was suddenly apparent that they were not the only ones having a tough travel there. Someone with a mule and cart was standing just outside the house, snapping insults and cursing at the mule because it refused to budge one more inch.

Al and Winry stared with wide eyes as they came down the drive and up to the person with the mule. The voice was obviously female, and sounded oddly familiar to Al.

Winry stopped Al's wheelchair at the base of the ramp leading up to the porch, stepping forward to the cursing girl, who had not yet seen them. She was holding a lamp in one hand and pulling the mule's harness with the other, digging her heels in and trying to get him closer to the house. The mule would have none of it though.

"Stupid animal, come on! I can't lug that crate all the way up here myself!"

"Um," Winry said, loud enough for the girl to hear her, "Do you need any help?"

Al turned his wheelchair around just in time for the girl to spin on her heel towards Winry. The lantern she held in her hand swung around as well, casting its yellow light right on her face.

Al caught sight of a dark, tanned face and pink bangs. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Rose?"

It was indeed Rose, having traveled all the way from Lior. She was staring at Al, lantern held up high in the air in order to observe him. Al and Winry could see she wearing sandals and her usual thin dress, and her skin was almost blue from the cold. Her teeth chattered loudly in the silence between them.

It took a total of five seconds for Winry to usher the freezing girl into the house and at the dining table, and then alert everyone in the household. With everyone rushing around trying to find things to warm her up, Alphonse was forgotten outside. Thankfully, the poor blonde was able to wheel himself up the ramp, but the step up into the house meant he was stuck on the porch. At least Winry had left the door standing wide open, or he figured he _would_ be in trouble.

After a few moments of waiting, Al sighed, picking up the grocery bags and setting them in the door. He flipped his blanket off him and pushed down his footrest, and then stood for the second time that day. Rose watched him from where she sat at the dining room table, eyes wide as he carefully took the step up into the house, gripping the door jamb with white fingers.

"So… uh," Al began with a weak grin, taking several shuffling steps forward. His blanket hung over his arm, and he had to struggle for a moment to keep it from dragging the ground. "…Hi?"

Rose returned the smile. "Do you need help?"

Al nearly stumbled, but managed to correct himself as he reached the dining room chair beside Rose. "No, no…I'm fine. I'm really in the wheelchair for recovery purposes, not because I can't walk. See?"

And he made it to the chair, pulling it out and collapsing into it. He pulled his flannel jacket off and threw it over Rose's shoulders, then did the same with his blanket, draping it across her cold legs. She accepted this with a murmured "thank-you" and looked down at her knees.

Upstairs, there was a loud bang, then a hollered curse from Winry.

"DAMN IT!" she shouted in anger, "I FORGOT AL!"

Rose and Al looked at each with amused expressions, Rose turning in her chair to see Winry thundering down the stairs. The blonde girl made it half-way across the dining room before seeing the wheelchair abandoned on the porch, groceries resting in the doorway. She turned to where Al was sitting at the dining table, mouth agape.

"Did you…" she opened and closed her mouth for a moment in silence, then flooded a deep, crimson red. Gracia suddenly emerged from the kitchen, holding a cup of hot cocoa.

"We don't have any milk, so I made do with hot water…" the woman trailed off when she saw Winry's blushing face and Al sitting in the dining room chair. This was all it took for her to deduce what happened and she smiled as she set the cup on the table.

"Careful dear," she warned Rose, "it's hot."

As she headed back into the kitchen, Hughes came down the stairs, holding a large pair of socks and three blankets.

"I couldn't find the heating pad, so I grabbed some socks and more blankets."

Winry nodded, taking the blankets and bundling Rose up completely. She laid the socks on the table, letting her blush fade away and adopting a more scolding tone in her voice.

"What on earth were you thinking, traveling like that in this cold!?" she demanded, helping Gracia when the woman came back from the kitchen, struggling with a large bucket of warm water, "You could have frozen to death!"

Gracia and Winry set the tub down, encouraging Rose to put her freezing, now-bare feet into the water. The brown haired girl gasped at the sudden warmth that raced up her nearly frostbitten toes.

"I didn't realize it was winter time!" she finally responded, relaxing into her chair. She took a small sip out of her cocoa, watching Gracia for a moment as she went to pick up the discarded grocery bags, carrying those into the kitchen to put away. "How can you _live_ here? It's _freezing!_"

"Of course it's winter," Winry retorted, obviously still embarrassed about leaving Al outside as she fetched his wheelchair from the porch, "You're just lucky it hasn't snowed yet."

Al grinned at her as she brought the wheelchair over, leaving it by his chair. It was if she was telling him that he was going right back in it, no matter his little walking feat. His legs wouldn't be developed enough for walking for another week, and even then he would be on crutches.

"Be nice Winry," he finally responded with a shake of his head, "She's from Lior. The only thing they get there is sun, sun and more sun." Al looked back at Rose with a welcoming smile. "I was planning on going there after I recovered, so I could thank you for helping my brother and I. You saved our lives."

Rose blushed, unable to meet Al's eyes. She had thought Edward was cute and pretty, but Al was cute and _handsome_.

"It's okay," she said, taking a deep gulp from her cocoa. The hot water forced her mind off Al's looks, so she could look at him without flushing red. "I'm sure you could have done a lot more."

Al shook his head but didn't press the point as Hughes suddenly reappeared from his quest for the heating pad. He had returned empty handed, but didn't really seem to mind upon noticing the tub of water her feet were soaking in. With all the grace of someone coming in late to an important conversation, he sailed into a seat opposite them.

"I'm curious as to what on earth managed to get you to come all this way. Lior's rather far off for just a visit."

Rose took another swallow of her cocoa, pursing her lips.

"The armor."

Everyone stared at her blankly for a moment, so she set the cup down and squared her narrow shoulders.

"The night Al got his body back, I was able to bring him and Ed back here… but I didn't have time to salvage his armor. I left it where it was. …I finally went back to get it, because I wasn't really sure if you wanted it or not."

Winry and Hughes looked to Al, who fell back into the seat with a bewildered expression. He scratched the back of his head, copper-colored eyes wide. He smiled weakly.

"To be honest, I forgot all about the armor," he said sheepishly, a slight blush coming to his face, "I actually wouldn't have cared if it had been destroyed." Seeing Rose's fall, he quickly backpedaled to amend his statement—Rose did come all the way to Resembool to give it back, not to mention saving his and Ed's life, "But, um…"

Winry straightened, the movement drawing attention to her. "He'll take it," she said firmly, ignoring the sharp look Al sent her, "It's too big to set up here, but I have a crate I can put it in until we find somewhere to put it."

With that she headed off, pausing for a moment in the doorway. She threw a slanted look over her shoulder to Hughes.

"Mister Hughes, you wouldn't mind helping me? The armor is kind of heavy."

Hughes blinked at her, then looked between Al and Rose. As if he had been hit, he jumped up from his seat and quickly followed after her. Al watched them leave with a shake of his head.

The door shut behind the two, and Al and Rose sat in silence for a long moment, listening to Winry and Hughes coaxing the stubborn mule around to the back door, where the crate sat in the back hallway.

Finally, Alphonse settled his gaze on Rose.

"How have you been since that time?" he asked, bluntly and to the point, but still as gentle as he could make his voice. Rose looked quickly into her cup, her brown eyes darker than usual. Her pink bangs fall into her face.

"Fine, I guess," she said in a small voice, her shoulders hunching, "Sometimes it's hard to sleep at night. I have nightmares." She glanced up, a tiny, reassuring smile on her face. "I've been doing better though. Everything is so busy now, with helping to rebuild Lior."

Al raised his eyebrows. "How's that going?"

"We're pulling together," she replied, setting the cup on the table, smiling still, "Major Armstrong was recently assigned to help us, and he's doing a very good job of it…though the muscle-flexing thing does get rather weird."

Al barked a laugh at the thought of the over zealous Armstrong and his ever-present pink sparkles. "Yes, that does get strange after the first ten times. I bet he's already taught you the Armstrong tradition passed down from generation to generation of just about everything, hasn't he?"

Rose giggled, sitting back in her seat. She tugged her feet out of the hot water, propping them up on the curve of the bucket. "Yes, I think he has."

Alphonse shook his head and opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off when he heard Alicia giggle from the operating room. He and Rose turned to look where she was, seeing her at Ed's bedside. The small blonde was clumsily drawing with his remaining hand, holding his tongue between his teeth in concentration.

Rose looked away sharply upon seeing Ed, staring at the cup she had set on the table. Her brown eyes had darkened again, Alphonse noted, in thought. He gave her a quick once-over.

"Rose?" he asked slowly, eyeing her quiet form, "Rose, is everything alright?"

Rose took a deep, shuddering breath. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine—it's just…" she trailed off for a long moment, picking up her cup again and sipping out of it. Just as Al thought she would shake the statement off and claim it was nothing, she finally continued; "…That night was so horrible…Between the two of you, there was just so much blood. I couldn't tell if you were dead or alive half the time. I was so scared that if I screwed up, one of you would die and it would be all my fault. And with the way that Ed looked…"

Al let silence lapse between them for a moment, letting this all sink in with a thoughtful look on his face.

"You acted exactly as Brother would have in that position," he finally said, closing his eyes briefly before looking back up at her, "I can never really say if that's a good thing, but when…everything first started… when he first lost his leg, he bound it up to keep himself from bleeding out, then set about trying to save my life. Then he sacrificed his arm to bring my soul back, and I was able to carry him here."

Rose didn't say anything, still staring introspectively into the cup. Al briefly considered that Hughes probably thought Gracia's hot cocoa could aide a person in seeing the future, then shook the idea out of his head, casting a look towards the operating room.

"He doesn't remember anything that happened," Al said. Rose looked up for a moment, also looking down the kitchen and into the operating room, where Ed still sat, a bright red crayon in his hand, "He doesn't have a single memory. If you want to try and talk to him, you can."

Rose stared at Ed, working her mouth for a long moment. She finally sighed and slumped her shoulders, looking away. She set her cup on the table.

"No," she said, causing Al's eyebrows to raise, "After that night—I—No. I don't really want to see him."

Al remained quiet for a long time, then nodded. "I understand," he said softly, "There's a guestroom upstairs. If you want to leave back to Lior early tomorrow, I think you'll want to get some sleep."

Rose stood, folding the many blankets and laying them on the back of the chair. She laid Al's jacket on top of them. "Thanks. Um, where is your bathroom? I could really go for a hot shower."

Al shrugged, waving his arm towards the stairway. "That's upstairs too, right down the hall from the guestroom. Gracia's probably already getting you some clean clothes, so you might want to find her before you get in."

Rose stepped away from the dining table. "Thanks," she said quietly, heading up the stairs. Alphonse didn't reply, watching her for a moment before he heard a thud in the back hallway. He looked at his wheelchair with a frown, then pushed down on the arms of the dining chair, lifting himself up. Carefully, he pulled himself into the wheelchair, shoving the cushion a bit further down in the seat.

"Winry?" he called, wheeling the chair past the living room and into the hallway in the back. Winry was sitting on her knees in there, carefully arranging his armor into the crate that was sitting under Pinako's tack board of photos. He stared at them for a long moment, and then looked back to Winry. Outside, he could hear Hughes struggling up the stairs with the immensely heavy chest plate.

Al leaned back all the way into his chair, forcing his fingers to relax on the curve of the arm. He watched as she carefully stacked the lower arms of the armor into the bottom of the crate.

'_It's like I said earlier,'_ he thought, tipping his head, _I couldn't have cared less if the armor had been destroyed. I might have been happy, at least for a while.'_

Hughes tumbled in through the door, partially dragging the immense chest plate. Carefully, he and Winry lowered it into the crate, then Hughes went back to fetch the legs. Alphonse watched as Winry fastened the leather straps that held the chest plate to the back of the armor. She gently patted the worn out leather, straightening it down the shoulder.

"_But I think maybe… later on, I probably would regret losing it. It was such an important part of my life for such a long time. It's kind of weird, but I guess Winry was looking out for me, and how I might have felt in the future.' _

Hughes returned with the legs, handing them to Winry. She laid them on either side of the chest plate, pointing the toes up. Hughes helped her heave the heavy shoulder spikes up into their proper place, strapping them down with more leather straps. Finally, she set the helmet in its appropriate spot, pulling the long plume of horse-hair around and laying it over the shoulder.

"That's nice."

Winry looked back at Alphonse with a confused expression, blinking her blue eyes as she attempted to process what he had just said. Al flooded red when he realized that he had spoken out loud.

"What?" Winry asked, curiously at the color Al was rapidly turning. He waved a dismissive hand.

"Nothing," he said, backpedaling, "I was just… uh, thinking out loud. So, how's that coming along?"

Winry slanted a look at him, knowing perfectly well that he was changing the subject. She let it slide though, since it seemed insignificant. "It can stay here until we go to Central, I guess. We'll just have to make sure that Alicia doesn't play around it. Those spikes are dangerous."

Al smiled at her, letting some of his gratefulness to show. She smiled back, but before they could say anything, Hughes stumbled back in the door, falling to the ground in mock exhaustion, arms splayed out in front of him.

"I don't get how you were able to wear that stuff," he moaned pathetically into the tile floor, "Body or no body, it's _heavy_!"

Al caught Winry's eye and they both burst out laughing as the grown man curled into a ball on the ground and continued his false piteous cries, rubbing his arms until Gracia came into the hallway to fetch her husband off the floor.

* * *

"Check that out, Chief."

Roy stopped in his tracks, instinctively looking down the hill where Al and Ed's home once stood. The black patch in the ground, along with it's crumbling framework, had now become familiar to him.

Havoc came up behind him, still staring down at the mess. "Looks like someone blasted their heater a bit too high."

Roy looked back at him with raised eyebrows, then remembered that Edward had had only brief, fleeting friendships with his staff, and neither he nor Roy had explained what had actually happened to the Elric family home.

A harsh, cold wind tossed up the tails of his uniform, causing them to snap loudly. Roy shuddered inwardly and pulled his scarf a bit tighter around his throat, continuing the trek towards the Rockbell house.

"I don't blame them," he finally said. It was too cold for long explanations anyway, "It's freezing out here."

Havoc looked up from the burnt down house, blinking when he realized his commanding officer was already about ten paces from him. Quickly, he caught up with Roy, walking fast in order to keep up.

"Yeah," he agreed, rubbing his arms as if to stave off the cold, "Freezing. But still no snow. Central usually gets bucketfuls by now."

Roy glanced over at him with a frown. "I wouldn't be asking for it. It's difficult enough to get around Central as it is. You saw how long it took me to convince security that I really was General Roy Mustang." Roy shoved his gloved hands in his pocket as the rooftop of Rockbell Automail came into sight, "Snow would only make things worse."

Havoc bobbed his head in agreement. He pulled his cigarette out of his mouth and flicked away the ashes, giving his boss a grin. "S'pose you're right about that," he agreed, slipping the cigarette back in its customary spot, "Still. It's nice to see snow-angels in the morning."

Roy shot him a Look. "You sound like Sergeant Fuery," he paused for a moment as they stepped up into the Rockbell's driveway, feeling the rocks crunching beneath his boots, "Besides, you should keep your eyes on the road while you're driving, or I'm getting Hawkeye as my chauffeur."

Havoc grinned, hoisting his knapsack on his shoulder, He glanced down for a moment, noting the bone-dry coldness seeping through the worn out jacket he was wearing over his uniform.

"You that worried about Little Boss?" he asked, pretending not to have noticed Roy's glare, "Every time something comes up now, you're blasting your way down here, come hell, Hawkeye, or high water."

Roy went up the stairs to the porch, while Havoc—childish as usual—took the wheelchair ramp, following it around and around until he got up to the porch as well. Roy slanted him an exasperated look with his single eye.

"I don't "blast" my way down here," he argued, crossing his arms and motioning for Havoc to knock on the door, "I come quietly. Knock a bit harder—they're probably all asleep. It's almost two in the morning."

It was Havoc's turn to slant a look at Roy, fist freezing in the air. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Chief? Lieutenant Colonel Hughes… and knives… and him being slightly …nuts? And at two in the morning?"

Roy released one of his arms, waving dismissively. "Go ahead. The most that can happen is you getting hurt."

Havoc swallowed, then turned without a word, knocking on the door again.

There was silence.

Havoc raised his fist, going to pound on the door again, but froze again when the door creaked open a bit. He stared into the small, dark crack apprehensively.

Seconds ticked by. Havoc looked back at Roy.

"Maybe we should just—" he was cut off when the door was suddenly thrown open by an unseen force, a hand coming out of the darkness of the house and fisting itself in Havoc's collar. Havoc let out a bloodcurdling wail as he was dragged face first into the house. The door slammed shut behind him.

There was silence in the wake of Havoc's sudden departure. Roy yawned, listening for the sounds of shuffling and his subordinate pleading for mercy to fade out. He tugged out his watch and checked the time.

There was one last cry, then silence. Roy looked up as the door slowly creaked back open. He put away his watch and took a cautious step forward, using his foot to push the door open before stepping inside the now quiet house.

There were sudden footsteps on the landing above him, causing his heart to leap into his throat. He looked up to see Hughes' dark shape ascending the stairs. Gracia's voice drifted down the upstairs hallway.

"Honey, what was that noise…?"

"Just some punk idiots. Don't worry about it."

Roy shook his head as nothing more was forthcoming, walking as quietly as he could through the dining room and into the living room. Letting his bag slide down to his elbow, Roy reached out and quietly flicked the lights on.

And promptly flicked them back off.

Havoc glared at him through the darkness.

"_Sir_," he hissed irritably, "I'm currently pinned by my jacket to a wall. With _knives_. You could have warned me."

Roy threw his duffel bag onto the couch and sat down. At his elbow, he found several blankets and pillows stacked up nice and neat for him. He let his smirk unfold into a grin. As he made himself a bed on the couch, he could hear Havoc struggling to free himself of his jacket.

"You know, Chief," Havoc said after a moment, where Roy could hear the sounds of small, dart-like blades coming free from the wall, "The pay raise from second lieutenant is very good, but paying for a new uniform is rather annoying."

Roy tossed a pillow and blanket on the ground for his subordinate, flopping back into the cushions. He raised his eyebrows as he kicked off his boots.

"You were the one worried about Hughes' sanity. You should have been prepared for something like this." He yawned out loud, pulling the cover around him as Havoc laid the knives on the coffee table, "If you're really that worried about it, take it up with him in the morning. I'm sure he'd be happy to buy you a new uniform at the co-op."

Havoc grunted something that sounded suspiciously like "Yeah, right," but Roy didn't comment on it as the blonde man laid down on the floor.

"Night, Boss."

Roy rolled over, facing the couch.

"If you say so."

* * *

Wow-zers this took forever. This chapter I have given you is actually a chopped version of the original. I got to 35 pages and went..."Can't post something this incredibly long. The first 23 can be Chapter 5, the last are my new Chapter 6. Enjoy."

Yeah, thanks for my 15 reviews, and all the faves, and alerts, and things. You can try to be selfless and say you write because you love it, and you post because you love it, but it's really having fans that make your world go 'round.

If you can guess where I got the inspiration for Al's armor coming back to him, I'll totally... give you a hug, or something. So I won't feel entirely like a squishy moron. DeLune17, you don't count. But I'll hug you anyway. -mwah-

--Foxy


	5. This is a Life

Chapter 5  
"This is a Life"

* * *

"_Lay down  
Your sweet and weary head  
Night is falling  
You've come to journey's end  
Sleep now  
And dream of the ones who came before  
They are calling  
From across the distant shore_

_Why do you weep?  
What are these tears upon your face?  
Soon you will see  
All of your fears will pass away  
Safe in my arms  
you're only sleeping"_

_---"Into the West" by Annie Lennox---_

* * *

It was only a little bit later that morning when Roy woke again to something cold on his cheek. Behind him, he could hear the grandfather clock chiming loudly to announce what whatever time it was to the whole house. He squeezed his eye shut, hoping the clock would go quiet soon so he could go to sleep again. He rubbed his cheek irritably to rid it of the cold.

Seconds passed, then something wet dripped on his cheek again. There was a stifled giggle above Roy as he reached up to wipe his face again. He opened his eye to look at what it was that had come away in his hand.

Water.

More splashed down the side of his face. Roy rolled over on his back to see Hughes standing over the couch with a cup of water in his hand. He grinned at Roy.

"Remember in basic training when Zachariah did this to Mell? It made him wet the bed?"

Roy blinked in confusion at first, wiping the water away as he tried to sit up. What Hughes said finally registered and he took a leap off the couch, throwing his blanket off and looking down at himself.

He was totally dry.

Hughes set the cup on the coffee table. "Turns out Mell already had a tendency to wet the bed. The whole thing was bogus." He watched with amusement as Roy checked himself once more, then flopped back on the couch. "How was your sleep?"

Roy rubbed his onyx hair back, only to make it look messier. He quietly readjusted his eye patch and hoped it hadn't slipped while he was sleeping. "As well as it could be," he replied, noting for the first time that Havoc was missing, "You didn't murder my bodyguard, did you? If I go back without him, Hawkeye will probably shoot me dead herself."

Hughes shrugged, sitting in the armchair. "No, but he probably ought to have known better than bang on the door two o'clock in the morning." He paused, and then threw a look over his shoulder towards the dining room. "He's in the back, with Ed and Al."

Roy fell quiet, resting his chin on his hand for a moment as he stared out into nothingness. He slanted a look at Hughes when the other man coughed to get his attention.

"You should probably go see him while you still can," Hughes said with a grim smile, "Winry's going to start surgery soon, and he won't be awake for a long time after that."

Roy stood again, stretching out so that his back popped several times. He grimaced and rubbed his shoulder, which twinged from sleeping on the small couch. Hughes smiled slyly, no doubt withholding an "old man" comment.

Roy glanced back at him. "I just realized something," he said, watching Hughes as the man stood from the armchair, "I came all this way to Resembool to see someone who doesn't even know me, then to wait outside an operating room for who knows how long in order to find out if he survives or not."

Hughes snorted, patting Roy on the shoulder as they left the living room and circled around to the operating room. Ed was sitting up in the bed, putting together another jigsaw puzzle. Sitting on the edge of the bed was Havoc, cigarette hanging from his lips as usual. "That's just called "caring.""

Roy slanted him a glare, but didn't say anything as he approached the end of the bed, knapsack hanging off his shoulder. Alphonse was reading one of the books he had brought last time, sitting quietly in his wheelchair on the other side of the bed. One foot was resting on the metal adjustment bar that had the bed propped up.

Havoc looked over at his shoulder at him, grinning wryly. He looked back at Ed, picking up some pieces and fitting them together. "There. Those pieces ought to make up the corner, Little Boss." He stood, reaching out to ruffle Ed's blonde hair. Ed looked up at him with an annoyed pout, reaching up with his only arm in an attempt to smooth his hair back into place. He successfully managed to make it messier, so he gave up and looked back down at the puzzle.

Al sighed, flipping a page. "He doesn't understand nicknames. Calling him "short" won't even get a blink out of him."

Indeed, Edward didn't even look up at the height insinuation, eyes flickering for a moment over the puzzle as Havoc stepped away from the bed, giving Roy some room to slide in. He grinned at Al, nodding his goodbye as he left the operating room. Hughes joined him, which Roy noted with a dull sense of interest.

Roy took Havoc's spot on the edge of the bed, picking up the piece to the puzzle that fit into the one Ed was holding. "Here," he said quietly, fitting the pieces together for him, "There you go."

Ed stared at the two pieces, then gave Roy an incredibly irritated look. He set the pieces down, separating them as best he could. After a moment of staring at them, he put the pieces back together, then slipped it into place on the whole puzzle.

Al dropped his book in his lap, looking frustrated. He rubbed his temple, then smiled as Ed tugged pieces out of Roy's bewildered hands, hording them away from the dark haired man.

"He likes to do things by himself," Al said with a grin at Roy, who shook his head, "Although I don't think I've seen him this agitated about it."

"Maybe it's just his dislike of me shining through." Roy reached down, picking up his knapsack, piquing Al's curiosity. The blonde teenager eyed the rather boxy-looking bag with anticipation showing in his eyes. Roy forced himself not to grin.

Ed looked up suddenly, frowning darkly. He looked over at Al, dropping the puzzle pieces and waving his only arm impatiently to get his brother's attention. Al looked back, the corners of his mouth turning down.

"Ed, what is it?" he asked, concern filling his voice. Ed gestured with his hand, reaching out towards the bedside table, "What's wro- oh." Al sighed, reaching out to grab the cup of water sitting on the bedside. "You just want water, right?"

Ed held out his hand with a hint of impatience, reaching for the cup. Roy caught Al's wrist before he could give it to him, however.

"May I try something?" he asked, not waiting for an answer as he took the cup out of his hands. Al shrugged in confusion, sitting back against his chair to see what Roy was planning on doing.

Ed's gaze switched over to Roy and he reached again, holding out his hand to receive the cup. Roy raised his eyebrows, then raised his hand, waving it a bit to get Ed's attention to it. He raised three fingers into a "W" shape, raising them in a drinking motion. He repeated the motion.

"It means water," he clarified, pointing to the cup, "Water. If you want water, you're going to have to ask for it."

Al's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't see anything, reaching up to scratch his chin. Ed stared blankly at Roy, dropping his reaching arm when it was apparent that he wasn't going to get the cup.

"Water," Roy repeated slowly, repeating the hand signal. "This is water. This is the sign for water." After a moment of Ed staring, he sighed, dropping back against his seat.

"I'm not even sure it's sinking in—"

"Shh!"

Roy glanced at Al, then back at Ed. The small blonde was staring avidly at Roy, holding up three, short stubby fingers in the form of a "W." After a long moment, (where Roy wouldn't admit to holding his breath) he mimicked the motion Roy had made. After receiving only stares from the two of them, he repeated the sign, then reached his hand out, giving Roy an expectant look.

Roy smirked, handing the cup over to the small blonde to have. "It seems he still has a penchant for learning… and demanding."

Alphonse closed his eyes for a long, long moment. "Thank you," he breathed, opening one eye when Roy handed him the knapsack. He opened the top excitedly, pulling out the books tightly packed inside.

"There are two on sign language," Roy said with a lazy smirk, feeling as though he had achieved a sense of accomplishment for the day, "The others are on soul work in alchemy. My own collection, of course, so please take care of them."

Al handed him back the knapsack, piling the books in his lap. He opened the top one, patting the first page. "Of course, sir. Like I said, _thank you._"

Ed finally got done sipping the water, holding out to give Al the empty cup. Al accepted it, and with his hand free, Ed made the sign for water again.

Al laughed, wheeling the chair over to the nearby workbench where a sink was. He set the books on the bench.

"Yes," he said, topping off the glass, "You can have some more water."

A loud scraping noise at the door attracted their attention. It was Winry, dragging in a tall IV rack. She frowned when she saw the glass.

"He shouldn't have any more, actually," she said, coming in and setting the IV by the bed, "I only gave him that glass so that he wouldn't want anything to eat. Ed could vomit and choke during surgery if his stomach's full."

Winry hung up a bag of clear liquid on the IV and pulled over a small stand with a metal tray that held surgical tools. Nearby, the prosthetics were sitting neatly arranged in a metal tub full of sterilized water. She shot Roy a narrow look.

"Could you send Granny and Alicia in on your way out?" she asked quietly. Roy pursed his lips, taking the obvious dismissal for what it was and standing.

"Of course," he replied, nodding his goodbyes to Ed and Al as he left.

There was silence in the wake of Roy's departure. Al and Ed watched Winry as she fiddled with her surgical tools, making sure everything was in perfect shape. Her hands, clad in rubber gloves, were shaking ever so slightly, Al noted. Edward was watching the IV needle with a nervous expression.

"Rose left," Al said, simply to break the quiet, "She decided not to stick around for the surgery." He paused, chewing the inside of his lip. "…I don't know if she'll ever want to see us again. She certainly didn't want to see Brother the way he is now."

Winry looked up for a moment. "Maybe you should give her a bit of time to sort that out. You didn't see the way she looked when she brought you here. She was so covered in blood, I thought she was hurt too. Maybe when it's a bit less painful to think about, she'll want to face him again."

Al nodded. "I suppose."

There was quiet again, then Winry lifted up the IV needle. She smiled grimly.

"Alright, Ed," she said, lowering the needle to his remaining hand, "This is going to—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Edward jerked away from the needle, accidentally throwing the jigsaw puzzle to the floor. Pieces flew everywhere, and Edward would have followed if not for Alphonse catching him around the waist, having expected this to happen. After a moment of struggling, Al pinned his brother to the mattress, catching his flailing arm and holding it still for Winry.

Quickly, before the blonde could free himself, Winry slipped the needle into the back of Ed's hand, and then taped it into place. Ed opened his mouth as if to scream, but nothing came out.

Alphonse spoke soothingly to Ed, keeping his voice quiet in an effort to calm him down. "See there? It's alright… it doesn't hurt a bit now, does it?" He glanced up at Winry with a thin smile. "He never did like needles. I remember one time he actually ran out of the doctor's office to avoid a shot. Somehow I managed to catch him and drag him back."

Winry snorted. "I would've _paid_ to see that."

Alphonse hummed in response, glancing down at his brother. Edward was breathing hard, staring in raw terror at where the needle was piercing his skin. Feeling guilty for joking about him, Alphonse reached up, running his fingers through Ed's blonde hair.

"It's okay," he whispered quietly, stroking Ed's hair, "Everything will be just fine."

"Bigger Brother Ed, what's wrong?"

Al and Ed both looked over at the door, where Alicia stood. Hesitating for the barest moment, she bounced across the room to Ed's side, standing on tiptoes to look over the edge of the bed.

"It's nothing," Al said with a smile, "Ed's just a little bit afraid of needles."

Ed actually glared at him, as though upset now that he'd told Alicia he was frightened. Alicia didn't seem all too bothered by it though, waving her hand in an oddly dismissive gesture.

"I was scared too when the doctors at home gave me a shot," she said brightly, smiling over the edge of the bed at Edward, "But it didn't hurt a bit, and the nurse gave me a cookie when it was done."

She gave Winry a suspicious look, as if she were being unfair. "Ed gets a cookie too, right? 'Cuz he should."

Winry laughed a bit from where she stood, checking the bag hanging from the IV. "Of course," she replied as Al released his brother, for the blonde had finally relaxed, "Ed, do you want a cookie when you wake up?"

Ed looked up from his inspection of the needle, his face pale. He looked between Al and Winry, then shook his head, doing the "water" sign again. Al smiled.

"Water it is, then," he said, watching Winry as she messed with the IV bag. After a moment, his curiosity was piqued. "What is that?"

Winry didn't even look up. "General anesthesia. It'll knock him out in a couple of moments. After that, I'll have to put a breathing tube in his throat to keep him from suffocating during surgery."

Al grimaced at the thought, looking away for a moment. Winry frowned as she pulled more equipment out of their places.

"If you're going to be squeamish about it," she began, pulling out a long tube from one of the drawers, "You shouldn't be in here at all. I don't you being sick while I'm trying to work."

Alphonse waved a dismissive hand. "I'll be fine," he replied, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. Winry gave him a narrow look, but didn't say anything to this.

Granny Pinako came in, setting her pipe down on a shelf as she did. She was dragging in a stool for her to stand on. Alphonse wheeled his chair out to the end of the bed, giving her room to come up on that side.

As the old woman climbed up into her stool and snapped on her rubber gloves, Edward slumped back against his pillows, eyes closed. He had been lying still for a while now, eyes fluttering rapidly as he tried to stay awake. His breathing had evened out, Winry noted as she reached down to wipe away the rest of the tears from the small child's face.

"That was fast," Al commented quietly. Winry looked up at him, then shook her head.

"It usually is," she said, picking up the breathing tube and curling it around her arm so she could better manipulate the end of it.

"Alright," Granny Pinako began, her mouth curving down as she assessed the room, "I'd prefer an actual hospital room to do an open surgery in, but considering we can't move him to the clinic in town, we have to make do with what we have. This means _nobody_ is allowed to touch Ed but Winry and I. Alicia, I want you to sit over by the door. If you want to leave, you can, but you cannot come back in. I want everything as sterile as possible."

Alicia tipped her head to the side, then beamed at Pinako. "Okay!" she said brightly, bouncing back and sitting in the chair by the door. She made herself comfy, legs swinging as she waited patiently for them to continue.

Pinako looked at Winry, waiting for her to take the lead. Winry met her eyes briefly, then looked down at Alphonse. He stared unblinkingly at her with his copper-toned eyes for a long, long moment before nodding at her to go ahead. Is gaze was intense even as she looked back at Ed, holding the breathing tube tightly in her fist.

"Here goes."

* * *

Back in the dining room, Hughes, Gracia, Roy, and Havoc were sitting around the table, eating the breakfast Gracia had prepared for them. Winry, Alphonse, and Pinako had gotten up far earlier and eaten.

"So Al got his armor back," Roy said quietly, shifting some of his food around on his tray, "I wonder what he thought about that."

"He was fine with it, I think. Almost seemed relieved now that I think about it. He wouldn't have wanted to lose the armor, no matter the history he had had with it," Hughes shoveled his wife's grits into his mouth, (under the misconception that not doing so would bring death upon him—for Gracia's food was just that good) and looked up at Roy, "They're planning on setting it up in Central."

Roy frowned. "In Central?"

Gracia smiled sweetly over her coffee mug, setting it down. She had discreetly elbowed her husband a few times in order to chide him about manners, but seemed to have given up on it. "Winry's buying a house there after Edward recovers from his surgeries. She wants to open up her own automail shop there."

Roy nodded, looking down into his own coffee (maybe in an attempt to determine the future. Again, Gracia's food was just that good.) as he mulled this over. "Personally, I would've burnt the armor. I wouldn't be able to stand the very sight of the thing after what they went through. It's good though that Miss Rockbell has such a plan for the future. In Central, Alphonse will be able to see them far more often."

Havoc hid a smirk. "And you won't have to constantly come down here when you get worried. It'd just be a trip around the block."

Roy glared, and a few seconds later, managed to find a way to dump his hot coffee into Havoc's lap and make it look like an accident that Gracia believed.

Probably not, actually, but Roy couldn't help but chalk up a victory to himself. Maybe he was acting a bit too much like Fullmetal for his own taste, but sweet revenge in the form of physical violence was much too satisfying to care.

* * *

About two hours had passed in almost total silence in the operating room, save for Pinako's occasional guidance to Winry. Edward's small body was completely covered in sterile blue sheets, leaving only his face and the surgery site exposed. Alphonse was still in his spot at the end of the bed, knuckles white from the pressure he was exerting on the wheelchair arms. It wasn't Winry and Pinako's skills as prosthetic surgeons he doubted—but the desperate need to _live_ that the new Edward had not inherited from the older Edward.

His Brother would fight tooth and nail for life, Alphonse knew, but he didn't know what this Edward would do. His body could quit right in the middle of surgery, and he could simply let go, And Alphonse would lose him—

Al gripped the wheelchair harder, mentally telling himself to shut up and quit worrying. He took a deep breath, but didn't release his grip on the chair.

"Last one," Winry announced quietly as she picked up the last steel rib. It was the smallest one, having worked their way down Ed's ribcage. Pinako nodded encouragement to her granddaughter, watching intently as she lowered the rib into Ed's body.

Winry, carefully (CAREULLY, because she knew the wrong move could paralyze Edward forever, and automail would only be for decorative purposes after that) feeling her way down the spine, found the costal facet that the last rib was supposed to fit into. Gently, she pushed the rib into the facet, feeling it pop underneath her fingers. It had locked into place, and as she tested it out to make sure it wasn't loose, she could feel that it wouldn't move.

Winry withdrew her hand from the surgical site, letting out a long sigh of relief against the mask she had put on. That part of the surgery had gone well enough, at least.

Granny Pinako gave her a narrow look over her own mask. "Go take a break," she advised sharply, "I'll close up his ribs and start opening up the rest of him. Remember to sterilize yourself on the way back in."

Winry held up her hands, passing over the surgical tools to her grandmother. She didn't even look at Alphonse on her way out.

Roy looked up from his book when the operating room door opened, revealing Winry sporting bloody rubber gloves, a hospital mask, and a blue surgeon's gown. The blonde shucked her gloves into the kitchen sink, then tugged her mask down around her neck. She grabbed both edges of the sink and leaned forward, as though about to throw up.

After a long moment, Roy opened his mouth to ask if she was all right, but was cut off when suddenly, out of nowhere, Winry began to violently kick the cabinet under the sink. He snapped his mouth shut as the door splintered under the force of her kicking. She didn't stop until it was off its hinges and laying on the floor in pieces.

Roy waited a few moments, then quietly set the book down on the table. He clasped his hands around his knee.

"Feeling better?"

Winry's head snapped around, and she delivered a piercing glare at Roy with her vibrant blue eyes.

"I was," she snapped, leaning back against the sink, "Then you said something."

Roy bobbed his head once, closing his eye for a second. "I just wanted to know if everything was all right."

This effectively caused the glaring to stop, and she looked away, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

"It's going fine, I guess," she said finally, "I just put the last rib in, and I'm going to start on the pelvis as soon as I'm done with my break." She sighed, looking back at him briefly, "The surgery is so delicate—I just needed to smash something."

Roy nodded in understanding. "Of course. How are Alphonse and Alicia?"

Winry turned back around, turning on the sink water to rinse the blood out of the sink. She threw the gloves away and went to wash her hands. "Alphonse is scared as hell that something will go wrong, and Alicia seems okay. She didn't run screaming the first five minutes, so I took it as a good sign."

Roy snorted. "Hughes mentioned she's expressed interest in automail. Would you take her as a student?"

Winry frowned as she lathered her hands up with soap. "She's just a kid, so I doubt she'd stick with it. Every girl wants to be a veterinarian at least once in her life anyways—but if she really wants, maybe. I'm hardly a teacher though."

Roy hummed in response, letting go of his knee briefly to inspect his fingernails. He slanted Winry a sly look, avoiding a smirk as best he could.

"Did you want to be a veterinarian?"

If looks could kill, Roy knew he would be nothing more than ash and bits of bone by now. Winry opened her mouth to say something perfectly awful, but was cut off when she heard her grandmother from the operating room.

"Winry, I need you in here!"

Giving Roy one last glare, Winry turned on her heel and stalked back into the operating room, although the lack of a slamming door took the edge of the scary effect.

Roy let himself smirk finally and picked up his book. He knew he shouldn't, but sometimes he couldn't help himself.

* * *

It was almost two in the afternoon—nearly six hours later—before the operating room door opened again. Roy looked up from where he was leaning into the dining room table with his chin propped up on his fist. Alicia, Winry, and Pinako came out of the operating room, Alicia wandering off to find her parents and the latter two stripping off their bloody gloves and throwing them in the sink. Their masks and gowns went off next, carelessly being dropped into a laundry basket they had left in the kitchen.

Roy sat up, raising his eyebrow. He had finished his book three times over and was thoroughly bored now, and was eager to hear how the surgery had went. He rubbed his chin from where it had been propped on his fist.

"How is Edward doing?" he asked after Winry cleaned the gloves of blood, then threw them away. She turned to him, rubbing her shoulder with a grimace.

"The surgery went mostly according to plan," she said after a pause, rotating her arm, "I took him off the anesthetic about five minutes ago, so he'll be awake soon. He's going to be really sore when he does, though."

Hughes appeared in the dining room, apparently having been alerted by the presence of his daughter. "How long will he take to recover?"

Winry shrugged lightly. "Two weeks, give or take. He's going to ache, so be prepared for a lot of crying."

Roy frowned, reaching over to close his book and pull it out of the way of Hughes' elbow as the man set beside him. "Mostly according to plan?" he asked suspiciously, dark eye narrowing, "What went wrong?"

Winry scowled herself, shaking her head as she moved out of the kitchen and through the dining room. "I had to use a metal plate to fuse the pelvis onto the bone. The bone was so thin it wouldn't stop splintering, so the grafting wouldn't work." She scrubbed her eyes. "I'd like to take a shower, then crash into bed for a long, and well-deserved nap. Granny will take care of Ed until I get back up. Are there any more questions?"

Silence ensued. Winry nodded in appreciation, and wobbled her way up the stairs.

Alphonse sat alone in the room with Edward, watching as his younger brother slowly woke up. Ed's eyelids fluttered precariously, his golden eyes glazed over and staring out into nothing. He rolled his head to look over at Al. Alphonse reached over and smoothed Ed's hair down, tugging on his heavy bangs.

"Hey there, Ed," he whispered quietly, smiling softly as his brother reached up and covered his face. The small blonde bit his lip, looking as though he wanted desperately to start crying. Something had changed, he understood, but all he could tell was that it was hurting, an aching that radiated through his body.

"Winry said it was going to hurt," Alphonse said in a soft voice, carding his fingers through Ed's hair still. He soothingly rubbed the back of his neck. "It'll stop soon, I promise. The surgery will help you a lot—because, well, you can't go around missing half your bones, you know?"

Ed reached out, curling tiny fingers around Al's long sleeve and hanging on. His eyes were clamped shut and he was as silent as usual, but the action spoke volumes to Al, who laid his larger hand over his younger brother's and held it fast.

Roy quietly slipped in, stopping inside the door when he realized Alphonse was quietly talking to his younger brother. After a moment, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe.

"It'll get better, Ed, I promise," Al whispered again. He stared down at where his hand was clasped tightly over Ed's and thought briefly of the imminent automail surgery that was fast approaching, copper eyes darkening. "I can't lie to you though, things will get bad for a while too. This will stop hurting after a while, but automail hurts forever."

Ed finally managed to pry open one eyes watching his older brother with a curious face. Al reached over, pushing his bangs back and wiping away the sweat that had gathered at the blonde's brow. His face remained grim as he spoke.

"You had automail before, when your memories were still intact, and you weren't as young as you were now. I remember…" Al hesitated, trailing off for a moment until he felt Ed's fingers tighten on his sleeve. His brother was watching him with a truly piqued expression, although there was a raw desperation in his eyes for Al to keep talking, to distract him from the pain.

"I remember when you used to wake up in the middle of the night because of the automail," Al continued quietly, squeezing Ed's hand, "You would cry from the pain, but you always tried to keep it quiet, so that I couldn't hear you. I always did because I rarely slept, but you never wanted me to make a fuss over you."

Ed watched his older brother with a blank expression, teeth gritted slightly against the pain. It radiated from his side to his entire body, a dull, panging ache followed by waves of sharp, knife like ones. He felt drained of energy and it had taken more strength than usual just to lift his arm to grab Al's sleeve. His vision was also blurry, and it was hard concentrating on the flow of words, but it was easy to try and distract himself with the task of trying.

"You'd have nightmares too," Al was saying in his even voice, his free hand soothingly carding through Ed's golden hair, "They were absolutely horrible. You'd scream and thrash around, so much I'd have to shake you awake. You never wanted to be babied though." He gave Ed a keen look, smiling slightly, "I don't know if you have nightmares now. You're always so quiet."

Silence lapsed for a long moment between them, and then Ed tugged his hand free and made the "water" sign again. Al watched him carefully for a second, then turned his chair around and wheeled over to the sink to pour out a glass of water.

Roy quietly slipped back out of the room when he saw his chance, leaving the two brothers together. He could come back later, now that he knew Edward had at least woken up from the surgery.

* * *

"Pinako said that Edward probably wouldn't be too incredibly hungry so soon after the surgery, so I just made him some pudding. I'll slice up a banana too, I think."

It was early morning in the Rockbell house, the only people being up were Gracia and Hughes. Outside, it was still dark, the sun only just peeping out over the horizon. It was eerily quiet out and the air had the tell-tale scent of snow on its way. Frost coated the grass in a thick sheet, causing it to crunch loudly when Hughes let Den out to run.

Inside, it wasn't much warmer, with the heater only just starting to crank up. The kitchen was the best spot to be in—not only because of the heat from the oven, but because of the delicious smell of Gracia's bacon, eggs, and pancakes sizzling on the stove.

Hughes grinned mischievously at his wife, leaning back against the counter and putting his hands behind his head. "Can I have a banana too?"

Gracia laughed, picking up the bananas out of the basket and handing them to Hughes. "You're such a child. Here, slice these and you can have one too."

Hughes chuckled and did exactly that, counting out five bananas as he did. He laid them neatly in rows, taking two slices from his and popping them in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before turning to Gracia.

"Well, I can split one of these with Ed," he began, leaning back against the counter, "But if his appetite is as poor as you say it is, I doubt he'll be able to eat all these bananas."

Gracia bumped him over with her hip, shaking her head as she placed a plate with a paper towel over it on the counter, then laid several pieces of bacon in it.

"The other three are for Winry, Al, and Alicia, silly. And don't let Den eat those," she scolded good-naturedly as her husband held out one of the peels to the curious dog, "They'll make him sick."

Hughes grinned, then tossed the banana peels away. He patted the disappointed Den on the head. "Miss Winry and the others bring out such a motherly side of you," he said, eyes getting an extra-shine that sent most people packing out the door (but not Gracia, for she was a saint of saints and completely immune to her husband's craziness), "My beautiful wife…!"

Gracia hummed in response, closing her eyes for a brief moment. "Maybe I'm just practicing for the new baby."

Hughes continued without hearing, announcing his wife's greatness to no one in particular but the air around them. "—such an angel! She is absolutely perfect—!"

Gracia waited patiently.

"Always room in her heart for yet another lost child, she is a goddess sent to me straight from the heavens them—" The dark-haired man froze with his arms in the air, smile fixed oddly on his face, apparently having just heard what she said. Slowly, without a word, he turned on his wife.

"What?" h squeaked, hazel eyes huge behind his glasses. Gracia gave him a sly, amused look, content in knowing that she was probably the only person in the entire world to have witnessed a silent, dumbfounded Maes Hughes.

Hughes seemed to disappear inside his pajama shirt for a moment, eyes getting even bigger. "Really?" he asked, excitement hiding in his high-pitched, strangled voice.

Gracia laid several strips of bacon out neatly into the plate, taking her sweet time to arrange it to her liking before she nodded once.

Her husband stared at her a moment longer, as if to gauge whether or not she was serious, then bolted from the kitchen. Gracia sighed as she listened to the sound of running feet move through the house to the living room where Roy and Havoc lay sleeping.

Hughes made it to the living room in record timing (a speed only obtainable by Hughes and the comics sold at the pawn shops in Central City), stomping on Havoc on his way to where Roy was snoring on the couch.

Havoc snapped awake, instinctively curling into a fetal position and moaning to signify his displeasure at being awoken in such a way. Hughes ignored him, reaching down over Roy and jerking the blanket off his.

Roy shuddered and awoke, the cold air chilling him to the core. He patted around blindly for the blanket, then opened his eyes to look blearily up at a slightly crazed Hughes.

"Hughes," Roy croaked, staring blankly up into his friend's face, "What?"

Hughes seemed breathless with excitement, his whole face bright red and hazel eyes manic. This worried Roy, but seeing as Hughes was nutters anyways, it didn't bother him too much yet.

"I'm a daddy."

Roy blinked. "Pardon?"

"I'm a daddy."

Roy stared. "I'm well aware of this. In fact, Hughes, I believe the whole country is aware of this."

He had been dreaming. Beautiful dreams. About a steamy hot spring, complete with a nude, anti-paperwork, and de-weaponified Hawkeye. If Hughes had woken him up to shove new pictures of Alicia in his face, he was getting his gloves out.

Hughes shook his head so violently Roy got dizzy.

"No, Roy," he gasped in excitement, "I'm a daddy _again_."

Roy rarely swore. In fact, he chided Fullmetal constantly for his foul language. In this one moment, however, he felt he had been absolutely justified in swearing after learning Hughes had procreated. Again.

"Shit," Roy growled, jumping up off the couch so fast he nearly swooned. "Shit," he swore again, regaining his balance and stumbling forward. He picked up his knapsack and slung it over his shoulder, squinting at the nearby grandfather clock in the process.

"Oh, look at the time," he exclaimed loudly, standing over Havoc's curled up form, "We're going to miss the train if we don't get up _Major Havoc_!"

Havoc didn't answer, still nursing his groin from where Hughes had marched all over him. Roy glared and kicked him in the shin.

"O-o-o-w…" Havoc moaned, slowly getting to his feet, "I'm up, Chief, I'm up!"

Roy grabbed Havoc by the collar as Hughes suddenly advanced on them like an animal stalking its prey, dragging the half-asleep and aching man out of the room. They passed through the dining room, where Gracia was setting down a platter of pancakes on the table.

"Sorry we can't stay!" Roy said politely, nodding to her for a moment as they got to the door and their certain escape from the clutches of Hughes. "It smells like a wonderful breakfast, but the train is about to leave without us! Bye!"

Gracia chuckled, straightening from the table. "That's quite alright, Roy, go on ahead. We'll be seeing you!" She called out as the door shut behind them. She turned quickly on Hughes, who for all intents and purposes, was about to follow them right out the door and pounce, "_Don't_ follow them."

Hughes pouted good naturedly, but moved back into the kitchen with his wife to assist her with the table setting.

Outside, Roy was dragging poor Havoc across the fields, talking about as fast as he was walking. "Pick up the pace, Major, quick! We have to get out of here, now! The first time Gracia got pregnant, I ended up trapped in my office for four hours listening to Hughes babble nonsense about the new baby."

Havoc bobbed his head, picking up speed. He fished in his pocket for a moment, then pulled out a cigarette and pushed it into his mouth. Something suddenly occurred to him and he turned on Roy with wide, blue eyes. "Chief, uh…problem."

"Yes?" Roy replied, neither slowing down nor turning to look back at his Major.

Havoc found a lighter in his breast pocket, reaching up to light the cigarette. A cold breeze kept knocking his flame out, however. "The train comes at twelve. It's only six," he said, noting that he could feel the cold seeping in through all the little holes in his uniform jacket. He shivered lightly.

Roy stopped in his tracks, releasing Havoc's collar. He stared at the ground.

"Damn," he said when he realized that this was indeed the truth, "Well, we can't go back."

"Guessed that much," Havoc replied around his cigarette, cupping his hand around his lighter so that the flame wouldn't go out, "What're we going to do for six hours, Chief?"

Roy glanced briefly over at Havoc, then checked his watch as though hoping perhaps it was lying. It confirmed what Havoc said though, so he put it away and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I hope you have something to entertain yourself with," he said after a couple of silent moments, "Because like it or not, we're going to the train station."

Havoc gave his CO a narrow, exasperated look, but followed the man obediently as he started trudging forward again.

High above them, snow began to slowly sprinkle down on Resembool.

* * *

Technically this is the second half of Chapter 4, but I want to feel like I'm accomplishing something, so it stands alone as Chapter 5. Uh, I'm exhausted. Mentally, physically, and emotionally, so yeah. Nothing to say.

I'm so sick of typing I can break my own fingers and not really care.

Thanks for the reviews.

--Foxy


	6. Hallo

Chapter 6  
"Hallo"

* * *

"_I can't find myself here anymore  
I don't recognize myself anymore  
Come and help me out of here  
I would give anything for that  
I am eager  
And want to go back  
I'm moving away more and more  
Every second"_

_---"Help Me Fly" by Tokio Hotel---_

* * *

"_You're so silly, Ed. Not everything's fixable."_

_His mom stared down at him a smile, laughing when Ed looked up at her blankly. He had eyes like his father—big and golden. Apparently most people who had lived in Xerxes before it was destroyed had those kinds of eyes._

_Ed continued his blank look, as though the concept being unable to fix something didn't compute properly into his brain. Something didn't seem right—this felt all too…dreamlike, to him. The world around them—Resembool, their old home—seemed faded and pastel-toned. Even his mother looked washed out._

"_Mom?"_

_A hand slid into his, and Ed turned to look over at his little brother. He looked worse than their mother, clothes blending together like a watercolor painting. Brownish-copper eyes melted into the tan of his skin._

"_Al?"_

"Al?"

Resembool faded out completely, giving way to a small room. Ed moaned, and rolled over, closing his eyes. He tried to pretend he had not awoken, but the dream was already slipping away, like water through his fingers. After a long, quiet moment, Ed reopened his eyes, slowly sitting up…

…then laying back down as a blinding, pounding headache made itself known to him. He moaned once more, lifting his hands to his face and gritting his teeth. It took a few more seconds, but after some intense concentration, he managed to force the headache back enough to sit up once more.

The small room was unfamiliar to Ed, even after a few minutes of close inspection. There were several bookshelves chock full of books, charts, and diagrams of some sort shoved up against the walls. There was a small closet in the corner, and a desk with more books and a few empty crates stacked on top of each other. Everything was covered with a deep layer of dust. Cobwebs had waged violent wars across the ceilings.

The most interesting feature of the room, however, was the glass wall. After closer inspection, Ed realized they were full-length windows and that the wall just came down at a slant from the ceiling. Even through the thick sheet of frost that covered the glass, Ed had a good view of the sky—gray and full of dark clouds. Smoke belched from one of the neighboring chimneys. He grimaced, then tossed aside his blankets and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

That's when he noticed some fundamental differences.

Both of his legs were real—and so were his arms. He stared blankly at them for a long moment, moving them around one at a time to test them. They were short and chubby, like a child's.

Faint memories of a fight in an abandoned city slowly came to mind, floating up and down like a buoy on the water. An alchemic flash, pain, and his brother crying out for him. Darkness.

Ed stood abruptly, cutting off his stem of memories as he made his way to an old, cracked mirror leaning against a bookshelf. Using one of his sleeves, he wiped away the dust on the surface to inspect his entire body.

He _was_ ten years old-- maybe even nine, judging from his abhorrently small stature. Ed was wearing an oversized button-down shirt that hung to his knees and a pair of large boxers. The boxers had a makeshift drawstring to keep them from falling off completely. His golden hair was once more short—his bangs still heavy and hanging in his face. His eyes, equally golden, no longer had the adult slant that they'd had not even a few days ago…or maybe a week ago…a month ago? Or more?

Edward felt suddenly dizzy and he squeezed his eyes shut, planting his small hands on the mirror to keep from falling over. Behind him, the door squealed angrily in protest as it was suddenly opened.

"How long?" he croaked, his voice harsh from misuse. He didn't turn around as heavy footsteps stopped in the doorway. "How long was I asleep?"

There was a thick silence suspended in the air, then the person gave a heavy sigh and shifted, floorboards squealing underneath his weight.

"Almost two months now," Hoenheim said quietly, stepping across the room. He laid a heavy hand on Edward's shoulder. Every muscle in Ed's body tensed at the contact, but his father did not release him, instead carefully guiding his dizzy son back to the bed. "It's been a while."

Edward snorted weakly, pulling his second pillow over and using it to prop himself up. He gestured at his body. "You think?"

Hoenheim flipped his blankets back on top of him. "You were running a really high fever most of the time. The doctors diagnosed it as the influenza," He paused, looking back to where Edward had been standing by the mirror, "I'm surprised you got that far across the room without falling over."

It was Ed's turn to snort, although he suddenly felt weak and exhausted. "I caught the flu?"

Hoenheim shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed, causing Ed to tilt slightly. He schooled his features against the second wave of dizziness.

"It's what the doctors' seemed to think," he paused as Ed stretched his arms above his head languidly, "Though I think they were really just guessing at it. Influenza seemed the most rational, considering."

Ed grunted, dropping his arms and looking blearily out the window. A thick cloud of smoke burped out of the neighboring chimney. He grimaced again.

"Where are we, anyway? Central? Where's Al?" Ed arched his back to pop it, then relaxed into his pillows again. He smirked lightly, not noticing the pained look that crossed his father's face. "To be honest, I didn't think I'd survive that transmutation—at least not with all my limbs intact. Don't get me wrong though—I'm happy as hell to be alive."

Hoenheim tipped his head, an expression of unease flitting across his face. Ed gave him a narrow look.

"Technically…" his father trailed for a moment, as though unsure how to phrase it, "…You didn't survive."

Ed was giving Hoenheim his full attention now, golden eyes narrowed to slits. His mouth twisted downward into a scowl—he didn't like being confused. And he certainly didn't like where the conversation was going.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded sharply, watching his father as the large man got up from where he sat, heading for the window. "_Where is Al_?"

Hoenheim didn't answer. A razor of ice shot down Ed's spine and his stomach bottomed out. His eyes widened, pupils blown out in horror so that only a small rim of gold could be discerned.

"Oh shit… Al… he, he didn't…?"

Hoenheim turned quickly, a deep frown carved into his face. His golden eyes worriedly examined his bedridden, panicking son.

"Don't freak out just yet," he said quickly, pacing to the other end of the window. He paused for a moment, and then took two steps closer to the bed. His long ponytail swung over his shoulder as he looked away nervously, then back towards the bed. He stared Edward in the face, watching him as though he were a person he couldn't quite trust. "I don't know exactly what happened. He simply wasn't with you when I found you on this side of the gate."

Ed stared at him blankly. This side of the Gate?

Then it was like an overwhelming revelation just bitch-slapped him across the face. He actually fell back into his pillows from the force of it. _The_ _other side of the Gate_. It made absolutely perfect sense. Why hadn't thought that maybe there'd be another side to the Gate before, he didn't know. It was…obvious.

Hoenheim was still talking, trying to prevent a full out panic attack.

"Alphonse is probably just on the other side," he was saying, "This world completely parallels Amestris, so since you're alive, I'm certain that Alphonse is alive on the other side."

Ed held up his hands for a moment, then dropped them in his lap. "What about alchemy? Shouldn't we be able to open the Gate again on this side and pass back through?"

His father looked uneasy again, rubbing the back of his head nervously. "About that…there is no alchemy on this side. Here on Earth, physical science has prevailed over alchemy. It's a forgotten art—and considered nonsense by most."

"Earth…?" Ed rasped, shaking his head. He put one hand over his face, fingers entwined in his blonde hair. "How…unoriginal."

Hoenheim slanted him a narrow look. "You shouldn't insult it just yet. Earth's a nice place, considering."

Ed looked back out the window with raised eyebrows, gesturing towards the chimney that was still billowing thick clouds of smoke into the already gray sky.

"I can tell."

Hoenheim acted like he hadn't heard the jibe, looking out the window too. "The country we're in is Germany, and the language is German— which is something you're going to have to learn, by the way." He stared hard at Edward, noting a tremble in his thin frame. He was sitting up, back ramrod straight and shoulders thrown back.

Ed growled under his breath. "Great," he muttered, looking away from his father and towards the wall with a tense of his shoulders. He stared hard at the cracks in the concrete, feeling the corners of his eyes stinging. "This sucks so much ass."

"You can learn," Hoenheim soothed, holding up his hands, "It'll be easy to pick up on. The story I have for you right now is that your mother—who was German, by the way—took you and moved to England. That's another country. She recently died of the influenza, which you had also caught, and you came into my care."

"Why don't you just say you abandoned her?" Edward jeered, still facing the wall, "At least that'd be a partial truth."

Hoenheim physically cringed from that blow, but did not retort, assuming—correctly so—that Ed's barbed comment was simply meant to prevent himself from crying. Instead, he slipped over to the closet, pulling out a small box of clothes from the top shelf.

"A friend of mine took the liberty of going shopping for you," he said, setting the box at the end of the bed. Ed still didn't look at him. "So you should probably get dressed. I'll just bring your breakfast up to you in a minute or two. I've got some medicine for that headache too."

To Ed's relief, Hoenheim finally made for the door. He didn't look up, feeling the tears finally begin to dribble down his cheeks. He quickly, furiously wiped them away, trying to will himself not to cry.

Hoenheim stopped in the doorway, holding the door open as he looked back at his son. It completely blew his mind to look at him—seeing him the way he was before the automail surgeries, perhaps the way he would've remained if Trisha had not died. He worked his jaw for a moment.

"Edward?"

Ed tensed his shoulders again, resolutely refusing to look at Hoenheim.

"Later perhaps," Hoenheim began slowly, still a little uneasy about asking, "you might tell me what exactly happened that night for you to end up like this?"

Ed didn't answer, the corner of his lips twisting into a hard, angry scowl. A dark expression crossed his face, so Hoenheim turned to leave, moving to shut the door behind him.

"I don't remember."

Hoenheim stopped, looking back in for a moment—and a mere glance at his son's face was all it took to know that he was lying. He nearly protested against this comment, but bit his tongue instead.

"I see."

If and when Edward felt the need to tell him the truth, he would, Hoenheim mused as he shut the door, slowly heading down the creaky stairs. He paused on the stairway for a second, feeling a slight half-smile curl his lip. Edward's brutal honesty sometimes got him into trouble.

But, Hoenheim figured, he had been the exact same way as a kid, so he supposed it was forgivable.

Edward finally relaxed, breathing out a deep sigh as he listened to his father leave down what sounded like a set of stairs. He pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around them, then buried his face into his blanketed legs.

There was nothing but silence left in the room as his shoulders began to tremble.

"_Al…"_

Twenty minutes later, Hoenheim mounted the stairs, carefully balancing a tray on his arm. He held a newspaper under his other arm. He stopped at Edward's door, listened for a moment, then knocked.

"Goddamnit! How the hell—?"

Hoenheim blinked, standing a bit straighter for a moment before he worked up the nerve to push the door open. He nearly dropped the tray in his hurried attempt to cover his mouth to hold the laughter back.

Edward heard the muffled snickers and looked up from the mess he had made of his suspenders, glaring hard at his father. His eyes were afire with anger and they were puffy red—tell-tale signs he had been crying, but that was to be expected. He shook the fistful of suspenders angrily at Hoenheim.

"What the fuck are these things supposed to be?" he snarled angrily, throwing them on the ground at his father (who had given up trying to conceal his laughter and was full out giggling, barely hanging on to the tray) "Some kind of fucking death trap? I've seen them in Amestris, but damn if I understand why people wear them!"

"Language," Hoenheim chided with a snort, shaking his head. He stepped around the discarded suspenders to lay the tray on the end of the bed, and then scooped them up off the floor. "And they're not a death trap. They're _suspenders._"

He untangled them easily and helped Ed attach them to his pants. His son scowled at him, but didn't answer as he pulled away from Hoenheim, then tugged the jacket on over his clothes. Ed refused to make eye contact with him, looking down as he sat down on the bed beside the tray.

He didn't touch the food. Hoenheim looked down at the small pile of sausages, frowning.

"My cooking's not that bad," he sniffed, "It's rather good, if I do say so myself."

Ed still didn't touch the food, reaching up once to rub irritably at his face—probably in an attempt to conceal the fact that he had been crying just a few minutes before.

"He's alive."

Hoenheim went and leaned up against the window, glancing for a moment at the busy street below. He looked back at his son, who had finally looked up from his food to stare him in the face. He was pale with red streaks from crying and his lower lip still trembled, but there was a light in his eyes—harder than senseless determination. It was the Truth once more, revealing itself in the eyes of a child.

Hoenheim opened the newspaper nonchalantly, working his jaw for a moment before replying. He raised his eyebrows.

"What makes you say that?"

Ed scowled, picking up his fork, and then he was simply Ed again, shoveling the sausages into his mouth. He didn't answer Hoenheim's question, but continued instead to eat, his golden eyes dulled to a deep copper with thought. Hoenheim eyed him over the newspaper for a long moment, then went back to reading that paper.

They sat in silence, nothing but the tinkling of Ed's fork and knife and turning of pages. Ed—already an unusually heavy eater—was starving, shoving food into his mouth as fast as he could. He supposed it probably looked piggish, but his father was busy reading and nobody else was watching him eat, so he couldn't bring himself to give a damn.

After a few minutes though, the silence became grating. Ed looked at the back of the newspaper, frowning when he couldn't read the headlines. "What does that say?" he asked, pointing his fork at the paper.

Hoenheim didn't look up. "Mostly articles about the end of the war. The Germans are angry about having to pay war reparations and being forced to accept blame in the Peace Treaty of Versailles. It's completely trashed the economy here."

Edward shoved another sausage in his mouth, frowning as he used a napkin to wipe the gravy off his face. "Whose fault is it that there was a war?"

Hoenheim paused, then shook his head. "Hard to explain, really. Austro-Hungary and Serbia went into war, then Russia, then Russia began to invade Germany, and Germany invaded France and Belgium. It was really a domino effect—but Germany's definitely a main cause."

Edward frowned, swallowing down his last sausage. He eyed his plate dangerously, as though demanding that it magically produce more food for him. When it didn't shudder in fear and do as he willed, he began scraping the gravy up, eating that down too.

"Then they shouldn't bitch about it," he said after getting every inch of the gravy off the plate, "If it's their fault, then they should live with what happened and deal with their problems."

Hoenheim winced, dropping the newspaper on the dusty desk at his elbow. "Opinions aren't so welcome here, Edward. You have to watch what you say or keep your mouth shut, because you could end up in a gutter somewhere."

Edward snorted in disbelief, giving his dad a narrow look. After a moment, he shrugged.

"What's hello in German?"

Hoenheim sighed and shrugged, then crossed his arms as he looked back outside. Gracia was standing at the curb now, shoveling the snow off the sidewalk by herself. Watching her from the other side of the street was Officer Hughes, looking unsure of himself as he was probably debating the best way to approach the woman.

"Hallo," Hoenheim said after a moment, "Hello in German is Hallo. You just say Hallo."

Hughes finally made up his mind and walked away, turning the corner and disappearing from Hoenheim's sight. Gracia glanced up from what she was doing, looked around for a moment, then turned to come back inside.

* * *

Yeah, uh, hi. I haven't updated in forever. Been too stressed out, busy, etc., insert excuse here. As long as it took me to write this, I could have at least made it longer. Or better. Whichever one. After the holidays I'm going to update a shit-load more, I swear.

Edward has a potty-mouth. Dunno if that's in character, or maybe I just make him swear too much.

--Foxy


	7. Hating This

Chapter 7  
"Hating This"

* * *

"_In the arms of an angel  
fly away from here  
from this dark cold hotel room  
and the endlessness that you fear  
You are pulled from the wreckage  
of your silent reverie  
You're in the arms of the angel  
may you find some comfort there"_

_---"Angel" by Sarah Mchlachlan---_

* * *

Winry hated this.

She loved automail, that was true, but she could do without the actual attaching of it to a person. That was the worst part of her job, fusing nerves and wires together as her patient screamed in agony, straining against the straps that belted them to the operating table. Constructing the automail was easily the best part. Iron and copper wires didn't scream and writhe as she put them together.

Edward shrieked again as she pressed one of the thicker yellow wires against another sensitive nerve, electric signals from his brain causing the wire to jump abruptly to life. The index finger on the automail hand curled, letting Winry know she got the right one. She began the bloody process of fusing the wire in place, and Ed began to bawl softly.

She really hated this part of automail.

And it felt even worse when it was your best friend laying on the table, completely at your mercy.

Al hated this.

Brother's screams were loud. His cries of pain were piercing, bloodcurdling, and agonizingly raw.

Edward's screams were quite different. They were _almost_ completely silent, sounding like air being exhaled at an extremely high pitch.

Despite this huge difference between the two, Al had the same feeling every time he heard the blonde in the operating room; it felt like his very soul was being ripped from his body all over again.

Alphonse heard another of the high-pitched screams and lifted his hands to cover his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine he was somewhere else.

He really, _really_ hated this part of automail.

"Alphonse…?"

A hand pushed his shoulder experimentally.

"Al?"

Al shifted uncomfortably from where he had been sitting on the kitchen floor in front of the operating room door. Blinking, he lifted his hands from his head, where they had been pressed against his ears.

Winry stared at him worriedly. He hadn't even heard when Edward's screams finally died down.

"Al, are you alright?" she asked after a long moment of subdued quiet. The absurdity of this question nearly caused Al to laugh, because she was the one who looked like a train wreck. Winry had been in surgery for ten hours now; there were shadows under her eyes, her hands shook, and she was pale.

"I'm fine," he said quietly, standing up from the floor. His knees and his back popped loudly. "Are you alright?"

Winry paused for a moment, hand hung in midair as she considered herself. The pause was long enough for Al to notice the dark bruise spanning the length of her underarm. At some point during the surgery, Edward must have gotten loose from the straps and hit her.

"Yeah," she finally said, "I'm alright. And so is he, if you want to check on him."

Alphonse stared hard at her, then looked towards the crack in the door, then looked back at Winry. After a moment, he caught her arm, turning it over so the bruise was completely exposed.

"You should put some ice on that," he said quietly, "to ease any swelling."

Winry tugged her arm away. "Yeah… he's a strong little ass, regardless of soul," she said with a laugh, walking over to the fridge. She occupied herself with rummaging through the ice chest, so Al turned, steeled himself, and slipped through the surgery room doorway.

Winry heard the door creak loudly as Al left the kitchen and she stood up straight, peering past the freezer door towards the surgery room.

In the operating room, Alphonse crossed the space between the bed and the door within the span of a nanosecond, cringing at the sight that lay whimpering on the mattress. Brand new, shiny automail legs were tangled in the stark white sheets, now tinged yellow from sweat. Granny Pinako was standing by the bed, finally administering anesthesia. Edward was not yet unconscious, still staring through half-lidded eyes up at the ceiling. He didn't even look at Al as the taller blonde cupped a hand over his feverish, pale cheek.

Alphonse moved his hand up to Ed's forehead, not taking his eyes off the automail port attached to his shoulder. Where heavy iron melded seamlessly to flesh, there were deep, black bruises, soft to the touch and awful to look at.

"We decided to take the arm off for now," Pinako said from where she was sterilizing surgical tools and hardware, "at least until the bruises fade, and we know there's no chance of infection. We thought the weight of the arm would probably be an unnecessary pain too."

Al looked over at her with a contemplative frown, his eyes darkening as he let his hand fall from Ed's face. Golden eyes finally closed.

"But Granny," Al said quietly, watching as sleep claimed his younger brother, letting his breath even out and pain vanish, "The bruises never really go away. They're always there, even if you can't see them. They always hurt."

Pinako pursed her lips at this statement, but did not dispute it. "That's the price you two paid, I suppose," was all she said as she finished sterilizing her tools, then slipped out the room.

Pinako hated this.

For years she had watched Edward and Alphonse, practically her grandchildren as much as Winry was, struggle with pretty hard things in their life. Until that fateful night, she had never imagined that they would ever have to suffer the burden of automail.

Pinako knew Winry hated surgery. She personally didn't mind it as much. It was a quick torture, something small in what would be a lifetime of bruises, infections, aches, and phantom pains. Comparing the surgery to the recovery was like comparing a paper cut to an amputation.

Pinako laid her towel neatly on the kitchen counter. She thought of the real Edward's eyes, knowing he woke up almost every night, clutching his shoulder in agony with the knowledge that nothing in the world could ease it.

She really hated this part of automail.

Hughes hated this.

Edward and Alphonse had always been really secretive about themselves. When they had first showed up in Central, he was extremely disapproving, did not think that children had any place in something as cold-cut and cruel as the military. He didn't know their story, didn't even know Edward had automail at first. Then Roy had told him.

Despite himself, Hughes did look at Edward a bit differently after that. Then he had realized some of the reasons behind Edward's odd little quirks. The gloves, shaking with his left hand, the layers of clothes he wore even in the dead of summer—they all made sense.

Hughes stared pensively into his tumbler. Gracia was sitting on the other side of him, and he couldn't help but smile sardonically at her skewed reflection in the glass.

Everything Edward did was to keep the automail as secret as possible. Even now, when it was not really Edward in that operating room, the only people allowed to see him right after surgery were Alphonse, Pinako, and Winry, because it was what the real Edward would have wanted anyway.

Hughes really hated this part of automail.

Gracia hated this.

She did it practically for a living—taking care of people, but she had her preferences. She enjoyed cooking for her family (now including not only Ed and Al, but Winry and Granny Pinako as well) and running around after Alicia, making sure she didn't get away with too much.

What she didn't like was tying to hold people together. It was hard, and she often felt there were better people than her out there for the job.

Al had taken to pacing in the kitchen during the surgery and had to be liberally coaxed into leaving Ed's side afterwards to have something to eat. He was an awful mess.

Winry had collapsed into a fitful nap on the couch and needed help getting up the stairs to her bed, as well tending to the bruises on her arms for her.

Pinako was…well, Pinako, as rough around the edges and short-tempered as usual. She knew the ups and downs of automail better than any other.

Her own husband, who rarely drank enough to even get a buzz, managed to land himself a spot on the couch after waiting until Alicia was put to sleep that night to drink down a whole bottle of alcohol.

Now it was the day after the surgery, and Gracia was quietly making breakfast in the kitchen. She could hear Maes in the bathroom, moaning about a headache and knew she would have to go talk to him.

Gracia really hated this part of automail.

It was early morning when Den quietly snuck into the surgery room. Usually, Miss Winry would have him thwapped on the nose for being in there in the first place (since he and his "ratty dog hair" as Miss Pinako called it weren't allowed to contaminate the sterile surgery room), but Miss Winry had shut her door the night before and hadn't come out of her bedroom. Hughes had yet to remove himself from puking in the bathroom toilet, and Miss Gracia was moving between cooking breakfast in the kitchen and taking care of her hungover husband.

It took some careful calculating, considering he was a dog and all, but Den was able to figure up that Miss Winry would sooner have him in the surgery room than have to clean up an accident next to the door. All he had to do was not give in to the urge to explore...

Nails and automail clacked loudly on the floor as he stole across the surgery room, moving towards the blonde that lay snoring in the rocking chair. Al was mostly covered in a quilt (deposited there by sweet Miss Gracia herself), one foot stuck out tantalizingly close to Den's head. The black dog cocked his head, then reached up with a paw and batted at Al's foot. He whined loudly.

"G'way Den."

Den whined louder, hitting Al's foot again. He had to go out! When Al didn't move, Den began licking the foot, tentatively at first, then faster as Al began sitting up in the chair. Den sat down, tail thumping the cold floor loudly as he gave Al a doleful, pleading look, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Al stared down at Den for a moment, then stretched out, popping his back. After a moment, he swung his blanket off him and stood, going to the door and letting Den out. The dog gratefully leapt off the stairs and across the lawn. FREEDOM!

Al shook his head, stepping back into the room when he heard a soft shudder. The door had let in a draft, and Edward, despite being feverish still from the surgery the night before, was shivering. Al stole across the room and picked up his quilt, laying it over his younger brother. Ed stopped shivering, and after a long moment, opened his eyes.

"Hey there," Al said softly, circling around the bed and sitting in his chair. "How are you feeling?"

Ed blinked blearily at him, then lifted his arm and slowly fingerspelled, "_I'm fine."_

Al put his hand on Ed's forehead. "Your fever's not as bad as it was yesterday." He leaned back in his chair. "I think Gracia's cooking breakfast. Are you hungry?"

_"Yes. Look."_

Ed indicated the end of his bed, using his one hand to pull the quilt up so that his automail feet were completely exposed. He and Al watched as, slowly, Ed managed to curl and uncurl the toes. Ed grinned weakly up at Al, who reached over and mussed up his hair.

"That's very good," Al smiled, getting up from the chair. He reached down and pulled the upper half of Ed's bed so that the small blonde was sitting up, "You keep doing that, but don't overexert yourself. I'll get Winry and bring us back some breakfast."

Ed nodded one and looked down at his feet, watching as his toes curled and uncurled. He was grinning triumphantly as Al left the room, despite the sweat beading down his face. Al shook his head. There were some things about Edward that would never change.

Unbeknowest to the slowly awakening Rockbell residence, something was coming down the driveway that would change everything. Something potentially dark, and extremely pissed off. That something would take Alphonse's world, turn it upside down, and shake it till there was complete chaos. Then it would proceed to beat the hell out of Alphonse, and drag him back to it's lair.

That something blew the door to the surgery room open, dark eyes taking in Alphonse, who had a spoonful of grits dangling in front of his mouth, eyes wide and sweating bullets.

...and that something went by the title of... _housewife._

* * *

Dun dun dun... Who is this mysterious housewife? Can anyone guess? (Prolly not, since I don't get many reviews.)

Yeah. I decided to expand on Chapter 8. I'm too tired to say anything meaningful (It's 1:30 in the morning, and about 3 degrees outside, so I'm all bundled in sweaters and blankets). If you didn't get it, Winry hates the immediate pain of automail, Al hates the waiting part and not being able to do anything, Pinako hates seeing the long term pain of automail, Hughes hates the secrecy of it, and Gracia hates it because of the emotional strain it puts on everyone.

Enjoy the longer chapter. I imagine Den to be a rather polite doggy, hence the "Miss Gracia, Miss Winry, Miss Pinako," thing.

I've recently become obsessed with Azumanga Daioh. I have the complete collection. All in one book. It's... my crack. And it makes me want to write light-hearted things.

"Well, it's like that saying. If you love something, let it free. We love ya, Chiyo-chan!" *pause* "Be free, Chiyo-chan!" --Osaka. XD

Orange Singer: Yeah, that's a really good idea. I think I'll do that now. :D

I've got to go to school today...Ugh...

--Foxy


	8. Crash Course

Chapter 8  
"Crash Course"

* * *

_Hark, hear the howl that eats the moon alive  
Your fur is on fire  
The smoke turns the whole sky raven black  
And the world upon your back will crack_

_Where will you go  
Now you've no home?_

_---"Tell Me What the Rain Knows" by Maaya Sakamoto---_

* * *

"This place smells like smoke. Do you smoke? 'Cuz I'm telling you now, you're quitting as of today. I couldn't stand Lieutenant Havoc's smoking, 'cuz he smelt like an ashtray. And that's what this place smells like."

Hoenheim sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day, reaching out and tying Edward's scarf around his neck. Ed floundered for a moment against him, then paused to put on his mittens. This pause was long enough for Hoenheim to finish wrapping the scarf without too much hassle.

"No, I don't smoke," he said, knotting Ed's scarf so that it wouldn't come off, "That's just the natural smell of the place." He grabbed Ed's hat and pulled it over his head before he could see the tassel on the top of it.

Ed wrinkled his nose. "Nice," he grumbled, trying to pull his jacket straight, and then realizing that it was buttoned up wrong. He quickly redid it, silently marveling at the newfound dexterity of his right hand. He was once more able to write, manipulate small tools, and hold delicate objects without fear of breaking them.

Hoenheim finished tying his own scarf around his throat, throwing his heavy trench coat on and buttoning the first few buttons. He eyed Edward, who was now trying to reach the chain lock on the door.

"This world's seen a lot more pollution than Amestris," Hoenheim filled in, reaching over and picking up a small, but heavy black shawl, forcing it over his son's head. He straightened it out carefully despite Edward's grumbled protests, continuing his conversation all the while.

"The air is full of smoke and coal dust. By the way, if you sneeze and black stuff comes out, there's nothing wrong with you-- it's just the dust. It's like living in a factory here-- will you quit fighting with me? This is for your own good, you know. There's no point in getting the flu for real."

Ed growled, but accepted this grudgingly, letting his father wrap the warm shawl around him. He fingered the heavy material curiously for a moment. "Where are we going anyway? And how do you say "my name is...?" Cuz people are going to say stuff and I'm not going to have any clue what they're telling me. Oh, and "father?" In case I need to call you or something... "

"Ich heiße,"Hoenheim replied, picking up a folder on the foyer table and tucking it under his elbow as he fiddled with his set of keys. He slid the chain lock out and unlocked the two locks on the door. "Father is "Vater"... and I need to go to the university to pick some things up."

Edward nodded. "Ich heitzer? Ich...Iccccchhhh...heisher?" he paused for a moment. "It sounds like I'm gargling or something."

Hoenheim snorted. "No, just 'Ich heiße.'" He paused, then leaned against the door, hand on the knob. "Edward, I need to warn you about something. This is a parallel world, right?"

Edward shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Ich...Ich heitzer Edward. Edward."

Hoenheim rolled his eyes. "That means there are parallel people."

"How do you say, "Let's go?"

Hoenheim pulled the door open, frowning in annoyance. "Nichts wie hin." he paused. "Klein blockkoph."

Ed turned sharply as they headed down the narrow, rickety stairs that led down to the street. He narrowed his eyes. "What was that last bit?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Hoenheim replied just as swiftly, pushing his son down the stairs, "What? First you want to go, now you want to stop? I don't feel like standing on the stairs all day." Edward ignored him, trying to block his way. His "short" alarm bell was going off in the back of his head.

"Will you go--?" Hoenheim gave his son one last push, sending him clattering backwards down the stairs. Going too fast to stop, Ed pinwheeled across the sidewalk and right out into the middle of the cobblestone street. He stopped, looking straight at an oncoming car.

BAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

The car swerved, barely missing Edward as it's horn blared angrily. Four or five other cars did the same, all swerving and slamming on their brakes to avoid hitting the blonde. Horses drawing carts of bricks, vegetables, and other loads whinnied and screamed as their owners jerked on their reins. Ed coughed hard, inhaling exhaust from the immense amount of cars around him. Eyes stinging and watering, he covered his face with his mittened hands, turning blindly and trying to get off the street.

After a few awkward steps, a rough hand suddenly grabbed Ed's shoulder, jerking him hard. He tripped over the curb as the hand dragged him to safety. Ed managed to stop coughing long enough to pull his hands away from his face, looking wide-eyed at the person who had grabbed him and was now yelling in German.

It was Hughes, only not-- yelling and angry, eyes cold as he gripped Edward's shoulder, hard. He was wearing a police uniform, a badge emblazoned across his hat. Edward lifted his hands to his mouth to wheeze again as the not-Hughes shouted angrily in his face.

"Was dachten Sie? Sind Sie dumm? Sie geraten in die Straße wie das nicht, Sie werden durch ein Auto geschlagen!"

"Offizier Hughes, warum sind Sie am armen Jungen schreiend? Er wird erschrocken!" Ed turned and the not-Hughes looked up at the voice. A not-Gracia stood there, though she appeared just as sweet-natured as the real-Gracia. She held a broom in her hand and was wearing an apron with more foreign words imprinted across it. "Unten gesetzt er!"

"Offizier!" Hoenheim ran down the street, holding his cap down on his head. "Offizier Hughes, es tut mir Leid!" Hoenheim stopped, pulling the bewildered and confused Edward from Not-Hughes' grasp. He defensively pulled his son against his leg, chattering quickly in German in what sounded like his best bullshitting voice. Ed wiped his stinging eyes, staring up at Not-Hughes as the officer's eyes slowly softened. He relaxed after a moment, looking down at Edward.

"Wiederholen Sie nicht etwas Ähnliches, gut?"

Ed stared blankly for a moment, looking between the three adults for a long moment. "Ich heiße Edward? I'm sorry, that's all I know..."

Not-Hughes looked up sharply at Hoenheim, who laughed nervously and covered Ed's mouth. Ed let out a muffled yell, prying at his father's fingers in an attempt to get loose.

"Offensichtlich muss ich ihn eine zivilisierte Sprache unterrichten ." Hoenheim said, to which Not-Hughes nodded, turning to leave. He frowned over his shoulder as Hoenheim released the swearing Edward.

"Diese sind nicht die besten Zeiten für die Engländer in Deutschland. Er konnte kommen, um sich zu beunruhigen."

As the not-Hughes stalked away, Hoenheim and the not-quite-Gracia relaxed. She smiled at Hoenheim, said something, then looked down at Edward. She picked at the slightly too-big clothing he was wearing, talking all the while to Hoenheim. He was warm and conversational, sometimes giving Ed a scrutinizing look before answering her.

Growing annoyed with the fact that they were obviously talking about him, Ed took this time to studiously ignore the two adults, examining the street. Cars zipped up and down the street with no regard for pedestrians, exhaust fumes racing out behind them. People bumped each other around on the sidewalk, stood around barrel fires talking, in line at a soup kitchen, at the steps of a beer hall, and shouted their wares out to anyone who would hear them. Houses stood window to window, with hardly any space except for the occasional alleyway. Above them, despite the fact that it was morning, the sky was a dark gray from the smoke filtering out of the many chimneys. On the street over, Ed could see the huge smoke stacks from a factory looming over the roofs, bellowing more smoke into the sky. Snow, blackened and filthy from the coal in the air, lined the streets.

Hoenheim suddenly turned, finishing whatever conversation he was having with the not-quite-Gracia.

"Bis bald, Fräulein Gracia," he was saying. Not-quite-Gracia returned the goodbye, reaching down to pat Edward on the head. He glared at her uneasily out of the corner of his eye, smoothing his hair down as she laughed and walked away. Hoenheim chuckled, pushing his son (gently, this time) to a walk. They navigated around the crowds of people in silence.

Ed finally threw his father a narrow look.

"You could have warned me about parallel people, you know," he growled in a sullen voice, earning himself an exasperated look from Hoenheim. The older man rubbed his face with annoyance, considering letting out a theatrical moan, but deciding against it as they reached the corner. Across the street was a corner store, and there was a large group of people holding signs, shouting angrily in their native language.

Unable to read the signs, Ed looked up at his father. "What are they protesting?" he asked as Hoenheim led them past the rabble. Hoenheim grimaced.

"They aren't protesting anything. They're demanding lower prices for food," he said after a moment, "It's becoming harder and harder to afford even a loaf of bread because of hyperinflation."

"What about us?" Edward asked, thinking about the sausages and gravy he had had for breakfast, "How are you able to afford food?"

"The university funds me. Have been for about two months now," Hoenheim replied, scratching his beard as they turned down another street. The college loomed over the small houses on this street, almost menacingly. "Much like the military funded you in Amestris."

Ed raised his eyebrows. "Oh? What do you do for them?"

Hoenheim hunched his shoulders and didn't answer. Edward shot him a narrow look and would've pushed the subject if they hadn't suddenly found themselves on the stone walkway up to the building, college students milling about them. They were too engrossed in their own conversations to pay attention to them, so Hoenheim stopped and looked down at Ed, speaking quietly.

"Do not speak while we're inside," he murmured, holding up a hand to stall Edward's annoyed protest. His long hair snapped in the breeze, landing around his shoulder. Ed felt suddenly irritable about the lack of a braid pressing against the back of his neck, protecting him from the winter air. "The English are pigs here-- they're the reason for the hyperinflation because of the poor handling of war reparations. Whatever you do, _do not speak._ It could lose my funding, and we'll both be on the street."

Edward considered protesting, but a thought about the people at the soup kitchen, lined up around the block with a bowl in hand, each bundled up for a night on the street, made him shut his mouth. His father gave him a narrow look before continuing up the walkway.

Inside, it was much wamer, almost making Ed want to take off his jacket. Students were gathered around the enormous fireplace with their professor, enjoying coffee and a cleaner scene than what was outside. They all chatted, and diagrams and papers were taped to the walls-- engineering students, Ed figured.

"Herr Hoenheim?"

Hoenheim and Edward turned to see a tall man, dressed in a formal outfit walking towards them. He seemed nervous, with a little twitch that put Ed at unease. He'd seen that look before on a lot of people, and it never bode well for their mental stability.

"Herr Hess," Hoenheim replied, with a slight touch of warmth that might have been reassuring to the nervous man. "Hess" took little notice, quietly murmuring in his native language to Hoenheim, who answered quietly in turn. Edward, bored with being unable to understand what was going on and unable to ask questions, turned away to look around him some more. The students by the fireplace were really getting into the conversation they were having, obviously debating something with the professor. Looking between the fireplace and his dad, Ed calcualated the distance between them, then quietly stepped over, standing behind the couch as the group chattered away. They were holding diagrams to something. Peeking just over the edge of the couch, Ed stared down at the diagrams. It looked like an engine to a car, except the outer body of the car had... wings? Ed tilted his head as the diagram was passed to someone else, changing his perspective.

"Auch, hallo!"

It took Edward a few seconds to realize that the old professor was talking to him. He felt himself pale as the students turned in their seats to look at him. Quite suddenly, Edward was glad for his small size, dropping just a little so that he couldn't be seen. The professor and the students laughed as one, and he felt even more embarassed, moving to sidle back up to where his dad had just been joined by someone else.

"Nein, nein!" The professor laughed, moving his hand in a "come here" motion. He gestured to the couch, where a spot opened up quite suddenly for him, "Kommen Sie und erlernen Sie mit uns!"

Unable to escape from the eyes on him, Ed shuffled around the couch, sitting awkwardly between a large guy that looked suspiciously like Lieutenant Breda and another guy that might've been familiar-- someone who you spot in passing and never see again. The professor and students pulled the diagrams in to Ed's lap, so that they could all see. They chattered away in German above his head, no longer focusing completely on him. To keep from looking at anyone-- hopefully so that he wouldn't be forced to talk-- Ed kept his eyes glued to the blueprints of the flying machine, eyes following every single line on the page. It was an impressive piece of work, surely, but Ed didn't know if something like that could really fly.

"Edward?"

Relief flooded through Ed as he looked up into his father's eyes. Hoenheim stood behind the couch, looking seriously down at him. He had a few new file folders under his arm. He looked up and greeted the old professor warmly, then glanced back down at Edward.

"Kommen sie entlang, Edward," his father said firmly, waving his hand as he looked back at the professor, "Es tut mir Leid, Herr..."

The professor laughed. "Herr Dietfried, Herr Hoenheim. Freut mich. Es scheint, dass Ihr Sohn ein Interesse an den Flugzeugen hat. Er studiert sehr stark mit meinen Kursteilnehmern."

Hoenheim laughed slightly as Ed pushed the blueprints into the Breda-look-alike's lap, getting up from the couch and heading back to his father's side. Hoenheim dropped a hand on his head, smiling at the professor. "Möglicherweise. Ich bin traurig, wenn er eine Störung war."

"Nein, er ist hier zu jeder Zeit willkommen," Dietfried chuckled good-naturedly, "Bis bald, Herr Hoenheim."

Hoenheim led Edward away from the chatting students. Annoyed at being pushed around, Ed slowed until he was only taking small steps.

"Do I have to treat you like a child?" Hoenheim hissed, "I will hold your hand!"

Ed spun off so that he was walking alongside his dad, crossing his arms and glaring. "Quit pushing me around like I'm a kid," he growled back, "I'm _sixteen_."

Hoenheim murmured something in German that Ed didn't catch and he scowled deeper, ready to unleash unholy hell, because his "short" alarm was flying off the richter scale. Right as he opened his mouth, however, someone caught his eye and he turned to look as he walked by.

It was a woman. There was nothing incredibly extraordinary about her-- she was of average height, with swept back blonde hair and a pale face. She was talking to Hess, and if it weren't for the lines around her mouth that suggested she was probably in her thirties, would have been mistaken for a student.

No... there was something...

She was looking right at him with cold, steely grey-blue eyes.

And there was something cruel and greedy about her smile that made Edward jumpy.

"Don't look at her," Hoenheim murmured out of the corner of his eye. Edward managed to break eye-contact with the woman, forcing himself to look straight ahead. "That's Dietlinde Eckart, one of my sponsers. She's very interested in the research I'm doing, and she's extremely interested in _you_."

As they exited, Ed couldn't help but turn to look over his shoulder. She was still watching his retreating back, only now Hess was doing the same. There was an overly possessive look in her eyes that Ed didn't like. He looked away, shivering as they walked out into the winter air. Whether the chill up his spine was from the cold or not was something to be debated.

"Why is she so interested in me?" he asked after a moment.

Hoenheim didn't reply.

"Well?" Ed said sharply, "Why? This pertains to me, so I think I ought to know!"

Hoenheim hunched into his jacket. "It's nothing you need to worry about. Just know that..." he paused for a moment, then knelt in front of his son, holding his shoulders tightly. Edward stared at him. "...If you should ever encounter her and I am not around, do not hesitate to run. As for Hughes... maybe he was a good friend of yours before, but now he won't hesitate to hand you over to her. Don't trust him."

Ed and Hoenheim stared into each other's eyes intently until Ed backed down, looking away. "Yeah, whatever. But that still doesn't explain anything."

Hoenheim stood, and they continued walking.

"Just don't worry about it."

_

It wasn't until evening, when they were sitting together eating dinner, that Ed thought of the obvious. He looked up sharply from his plate.

"Dad?"

Hoenheim didn't look up from his research that he'd gotten from the college, taking a bite out of his white rice. "Yes?"

"If there are parallel people, then what do I do if I run into a parallel me?"

Hoenheim's fork stopped midway to his mouth, but he still didn't look away from his work. After a moment, he continued eating.

"You won't."

Ed delivered his father a swift, narrow look, then looked back at his plate. He listlessly poked at his food, then dropped his fork. "I'm going to bed."

Hoenheim didn't try to stop him as Ed went up the stairs to his bedroom. He straightened, wiping his mouth with a napkin, staring up the stairs. After a moment, he closed the file and trudged up after his son.

In his bedroom, Ed was changing, pulling his suspenders off. He pulled his button-up shirt out of his pants, scowling. He had insisted, of course, on wearing adult clothing despite his small size (refusing to have anything to do with the traditional German clothing) but it was pain.

Hoenheim sighed. "I'm sorry."

Ed tensed, pulling his pants off so that his boxers stuck out from under the shirt. "Dunno what you're talking about." he said tersely, flopping back into his bed.

Hoenheim raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. "I suppose that's why you're so upset."

Ed snarled under his breath. "I said I don't know what you're talking about."

Hoenheim said nothing for a long moment. Ed's hands fisted tightly in his covers and he fixated a baleful glare on his dad.

"Go away!"

Hoenheim raised his hands as his son threw his covers over himself, becoming a small lump in the bed. "Okay, okay. Goodnight then." He slipped back into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.

Ed was left in the dark. After a long moment, he rolled over, coocooning himself entirely in his blankets. He took a deep breath.

"Dad?"

He must have been waiting just outside the door, because it didn't take him a second to open the door again. Ed scowled. He hated feeling predictable.

"It was my fault that he died then? My parallel self?"

Hoenheim hesitated, interlocking his fingers as he leaned into the doorframe. He twiddled his thumbs. "Theoretically, yes. Physics say that two people exactly alike down to the molecule can't exist on the same world, so while one comes here, the other dies. Technically, he died of a real world incident, whatever it may have been."

Ed didn't feel much better. "Right."

Hoenheim moved to leave again. "Goodnight, Ed."

"Night. Uh--"

His dad paused, waiting.

"Leave the door open a bit, okay?"

Hoenheim didn't reply, but did as he asked, leaving the light from the hallway to flood into the other side of the room. Ed could see it through the blanket,so he curled up and closed his eyes.

He exhaled slowly, feeling the heat from his own breath filling his blanket coccoon. It felt better than the stinging heat in the corner of his eyes.

_His very presence had killed an innocent person._

* * *

Sorry for the crappy, post-it-cuz-I'm-guilty-for-not-posting chapter.

For all you people who actually speak German, feel free to either provide me with tips, point and laugh obnoxiously at the screen, or flame me. Whichever one, I wouldn't blame you. I have a fire extinguisher on hand. Don't worry for those of you staring at the screen and going "huh?" Edward learns more German as the story passes, so he'll be able to understand them. You'll be seeing less and less German and more English as he is learning to speak more German, if that makes sense? He's a quick learner too, so don't expect it to be too much longer. Until then, see Translations below...^_^;

You can also flame me for not producing a decent chapter in...months. *is shot* GRADUATING HIGH SCHOOL IS VERY TIME CONSUMING, OKAY? *is shot again for excuses*

Ehem, anyway. I realized that I got Munich and Berlin mixed up. I am completely sorry, it was supposed to be Munich. I can't remember if where he's at in Germany has come up yet, but if you spot the word Berlin anywhere, inform me... please? *hides in a convenient plot-hole from embarassment.*

I'm thinking of writing a Pokemon fanfic. Something light-hearted... and in my native language, since I have no business speaking any others, apparently. Just something light-hearted to the point where I won't get dragged down by this fanfiction. No death, but still...so glooooomy.

And it only gets worse from here. o.O

Dun Dun Dun!

By the way, for those actually reading, this story and it's sequels (plural...yes...No longer a two story trilogy, my dear Sierra, XD) WILL NOT have yaoi/yuri. That's not to say I don't love them. In fact I love them on an equal level to canon. (granted, there has to be a story behind it, cuz Roy and Ed taking one look at each other and then screwing other senseless calls for a gag-effect) I may even write a yaoi one day. I am planning on writing an Azumanga Daioh yuri, cuz I hate the way Kaorin was thrown into the background at the end. She deserves some love from her heroine. XD

So yeah... No yaoi for this story.

A special section dedicated to my reviewers! Thank you ever so much Orange Singer, 11chiyochan, Vi-Violence, healing-Helper227, Little Patch of Heaven, Moonlite Knight, DeLune17 (my dearest Sierra), SJ Smith, Bakero-sama, A. YamiYugi, Toraus, flame angel alchemist, radcat38, jenelric, Mrawgirl09, Twilight Archangel, Cabot (yes, you got it right. No need to be nervous), and last, but definitely not least, Hiroku Yamashita! Hiroku, I read your review while I was supposed to be teacher's assistanting (made up word, I understand) and bawled my eyes out with the length and the positive amazingness spewing out of it. THANK YOU! You motivated me into getting my butt into gear.

I'm emotional, I'm sorry.

Mrawgirl09...I LOVE YOU TOO! I usually don't get comments like that from strangers, so I was like "...Wow! Mom, look, some strange person said she loves me on the interwebs! XD" when I read your review for Chapter 8.

Translations:

Was dachten Sie? Sind Sie dumm? Sie geraten in die Straße wie das nicht, Sie werden durch ein Auto geschlagen!: What are you doing? Are you stupid? You don't run into the street, you'll be hit by a car! (Or, as some other translator that I cross-referenced with said, "recieve suddeness from a car!" XD)

Offizier Hughes, warum sind Sie am armen Jungen schreiend? Er wird erschrocken!: Officer Hughes, why are you yelling at the poor boy? He's so frightened!

Unten gesetzt er!: Put him down!

Offizier Hughes, es tut mir Leid!: Officer Hughes, I am so sorry!

Wiederholen Sie nicht etwas Ähnliches, gut?: Just don't do that again, okay?

Offensichtlich muss ich ihn eine zivilisierte Sprache unterrichten...: Obviously, I have to teach him a civilized language...

Diese sind nicht die besten Zeiten für die Engländer in Deutschland. Er konnte kommen, um sich zu beunruhigen.: These aren't the best of times for the English in Germany. He could come to trouble.

Kommen Sie und erlernen Sie mit uns!: Come, sit and learn with us!

Klein blockkoph: Tiny blockhead. (Go figure Ed would KNOW he was being called short in a different language.)

Kommen sie entlang: Come along

Freut mich. Es scheint, dass Ihr Sohn ein Interesse an den Flugzeugen hat. Er studiert sehr stark mit meinen Kursteilnehmern: Nice to meet you. Your son seems to have an interest in airplanes. He is studying very hard with my students.

Möglicherweise. Ich bin traurig, wenn er eine Störung war: Maybe. I'm sorry if he was a bother.

Nein, er ist hier zu jeder Zeit willkommen: No, he is always welcome.


	9. Moving Out

Chapter 9  
"Moving Out"

* * *

"_Call me call me  
Let me know it's alright  
Call me call me  
Don't you think it's 'bout time  
Please won't you call and  
Ease my mind  
Reasons for me to find you  
Peace of mind"_

_---Call Me, Call Me" by The Seatbelts---_

* * *

WHAM

Hughes cringed, setting down his glass. his head was splitting, an unfortunate product of drinking himself into a stupor the night before. The sound of Izumi Curtis-- alchemist, housewife, and teacher of the Elric brothers-- screaming and smashing things (probably Al's body) was not helping.

THUD

"Are you sure they should be left alone together?" Gracia asked, wincing as there was another SLAM and the dishes rattled ominously in the kitchen cabinets. She nervously fretted with the hem of her skirt, never before having encountered a person quite as frightening as Izumi

SMASH

"As long as she doesn't break my things or go after Ed," Winry replied, taking a long sip of her coffee. At Hughes' horrified look, she smiled around the rim of her cup, setting it down gingerly. Dark rings under her eyes betrayed her need for caffeine.

CRASH

"She's good for Al, I promise," she said after a moment of silence, crossing her arms. "You shouldn't worry. She won't hurt him-- seriously anyways-- just enough to get it through his head that what they did was stupid and dangerous."

Hughes frowned. "I imagine he already knows that."

Winry shrugged lightly. "He does, but they could always use another reminder."

WHAM

* * *

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!"

Al ducked as a porcelain cup shattered against the wall behind him-- right where his head had been a second before. He was out of breath and already tired, and Winry's tools were scattered all over the floor. Ed was sitting up and nonchalantly eating his grits, quietly eyeing Izumi as she screamed bloody murder at Al.

"USING ALCHEMY LIKE THAT-- I TAUGHT YOU BETTER!"

This time she lobbed a wrench at him, which he dodged again. He fell off balance, tripping over a crate of automail supplies and falling on his back end. Izumi, all fiery anger and dreadlocks, approached swiftly, fists clenched tightly and a manic look on her face. Ed definitely got his temper from her, Al decided swiftly as he struggled to dislodge his foot from the trap of automail parts. He didn't get quite so far, Izumi snatching him up by his collar off the ground. He shifted uncomfortably in his sweater, trying to regain his own balance enough to pull away from his insane teacher.

Izumi couldn't believe this...this...this absolute _mess_. It had only taken one look at Edward to know what had happened and she was about to let Alphonse have it-- was going to punch his face in, because she couldn't do it to Ed. Her muscles contracted and she gritted her teeth so hard she thought she was going to shatter them.

Al's hand found hers clenched into a fist around his sweater, and he tried without success to pull her grip off. Her dark eyes narrowed to slits. Stupid, _stupid--_ to think he could avoid punishment for this long.

Another hand found her shoulder and she cast a heated, enraged look at her large husband behind her. Sieg said nothing, and gave little hint on his face at what he was feeling, but she could sense what he was silently projecting-- _"Calm down. Go a little easier on him."_

And she suddenly saw the slimness of Al's shoulder, the still not-quite healthy pallor in his skin, how his sweater seemed a little too big for him, and his overall appearance of fragility. Her anger faded slowly-- not disappearing, but she wasn't quite as prepared to put his mutilated body up for sale in her shop. After another moment, she dropped Alphonse back.

Al landed hard-- but didn't dare make a sound of pain even as his tailbone cracked the floor. Cringing, he dislodged his foot from the crate and eyed his teacher, who had turned on Edward.

"Well," she said after a beat, "How about you? What have _you_ got to say?"

Edward stared blandly up at her, looking back over at his brother as he got off the floor. Ed fingerspelled with his working hand; _"Who is she?"_

Al grimaced, standing at the head of the bed as Izumi looked on curiously. "Ed, this is Izumi Curtis, our- my teacher. Teacher," Al gave her a pained look, "This is... Ed."

Isumi stared at the bedridden Ed, confused at first, but as the blonde boy continued watching her with a blank, innocent gaze, it slowly dawned on her.

"You have to be kidding me," she murmured, rubbing her eyes for a moment, then bending to look closer at her former student, "You mean there's nothing in that head of his now? Not that he lost much, but..."

"If by nothing, you mean memories, then no," Al said exhaustedly, raising his hands as she turned sharply on him, "I wasn't the one who did it. I have no idea how, but he was the one. He exchanged age and memories for my life..."

Izumi looked back at Ed, lifting up the tiny blonde's chin with two fingers. She examined him critically for a moment, then released a long sigh. Ed scowled when she reached over and messed up his hair, using his flesh arm to reach up and smooth it back down. Izumi looked back over at Al.

"Got any food out yet? You're the host-- treat your guests with more care. You can tell me what happened while I eat."

Al gave her an exasperated look and debated pointing out the irony in that, then rolled his shoulders, popping his neck at the same time. "In the kitchen, Teacher."

A few introductions and two heaping platefuls of food later, everybody was sitting together at the table, excluding Winry and Edward, watching Izumi and Sieg eat as Alphonse explained to them every little detail of what had happened up until that point. Izumi listened, growing more and more thin-lipped by the second. Her dark eyes betrayed nothing.

"It was a mistake," she said after a few minutes between mouthfuls, "to take you two in. Look at this mess you've made of yourselves."

Alphonse shifted in his chair, trying not to look hurt.

* * *

It was later that night when Alphonse finally got up the nerve to confront his teacher again. Silently praying to whatever deity it was that watched over godless alchemists, Al crossed his fingers and stepped out on the porch, where Izumi was standing and watching the snow fall. Upon hearing the blonde teen step out on the porch, she turned, shaking the snow out of her dreadlocks.

The two stood silently on the porch, a good three paces apart from each other.

Alphonse looked away for a moment-- just one moment-- and it only took that moment for Izumi to closethe distance between them and land one good solid punch across his face. Warm blood welled up in his mouth from his split lip and he stumbled off balance, falling into the snow on the porch. The white powder crunched loudly under his weight. Izumi's hand grabbed the back of his sweater and dragged him to his feet. Expecting another hit, Al covered his bloody mouth with his hand as Izumi's arms came around--

--and he was enveloped in a tight hug. Al blinked in surprise, going limp despite feeling a bit uncomfortable so close to another human being. His teacher was warm and safe and smelled comfortingly familiar--like sandalwood-- and after a moment, he relaxed, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Do you have _any _idea how worried I was?" Izumi whispered softly, laying a motherly hand on the back of his head, "I was so scared. I thought perhaps you'd really gone and killed yourselves."

Al hung his head. "Oh-- master. I'm sorry."

Izumi hugged him for a second longer, then pulled away, eyes hooded. Seeing Al's hand over his mouth, she pulled a handkerchief from her shirt and handed it to her former student, who blushed-- but accepted it anyway. He picked some snow off the porch railing and put it in the kerchief, using it to clean and numb his lip.

"Master," he said quietly after a spell, "I wanted to tell you that I'm planning on joining the military."

The air around the two suddenly became frigid--and it wasn't just the cold. Izumi's dark eyes narrowed, then she sighed and shook her head, leaning back against the railing.

"I've got to," Al defended himself, "there's no other way to get information on how to fix what Brother and I did wrong. If being a dog is what I have to do--it's what I'll do Master, but I wanted to do it with your blessing."

Izumi chuckled darkly. "You and your brother, I swear. You're both just like transmutation circles, always going round and around. You know what the definition of insanity is, right?"

Al laughed himself, leaning against the railing with his teacher. "Yeah, I know, Master. Doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results everytime." He considered this amiably, "I guess that makes us a couple of crazy bastards."

The two glanced at each other and laughed.

From where he was watching, Sieg turned away, lowering the drapes on the window. Izumi caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and half-smiled, but was distracted when Al started speaking again.

"Teacher...um..." he shifted his weight uncomfortably, "...I was wondering...well, it's hard for me to...train back into shape without a sparring partner, you know. Since Ed is the way he is."

Izumi scooped some snow up from the railing, molding it in her hands and packing it in tight. Alphonse hesitated, then got down on his knees in a submissive pose. He ducked his head for a moment before finally looking his teacher straight in the eyes.

"I want to be your student again," Alphonse refrained from cringing away from the Look Izumi gave him, "Not in alchemy, but in fighting again, Master."

Izumi was silent for a moment, then she turned and threw the snowball at Al, striking him across the head. "You can't have one without the other, silly brat," she lectured crossly, "And if you've forgotten that already, I wouldn't feel right about letting you go on into the military uneducated as you are. It would be like throwing a lamb to a pack of wolves."

Al restrained a smile as Izumi turned to go back in the house. He got on his feet and followed after her, only to be stopped in the doorway. Izumi raised her eyebrows at him.

"Oh no," she said sharply, pushing him firmly back out the door, "Consider this your first day of training."

Alphonse paled. "Out here?" he asked with a slight squeak, the bite of the cold a bit more in focus now when he thought of spending a whole night out in the snow, "Master Izumi, it's freezing!"

"Oh please," Izumi waved a dismissive hand, "you'll be fine," she held her hand up to stem off Al's protest, "I survived being alone in the cold up in Drachma, I'm sure this'll be a cinch." I'll handle the little banshee-girl, if that's what you're worried about."

Al shut his mouth. No, Winry was not what he was worried about, but was unable to protest when Izumi entered the house and shut the door behind him, leaving him out on the porch. She didn't lock the door, he noticed, but then again, she didn't expect him to have the nerve to go in.

Al looked around, considering his surroundings. His mind had easily slipped into survival mode, a feral instinct still left over from Yock Island.

"Alright," he muttered, seeing his breath freeze in the air. His experiences on Yock Island had taught him more how to stay cool, not to try and keep heat _in._ Al took stock of himself-- at least he had bothered to put his boots, jacket and scarf on before stepping out on the porch-- he couldn't imagine how mindlessly cold it would have been with just his sweater on. He could start a fire with alchemy, but he didn't have a trigger to create a spark.

Best thing to do, he figured, stepping off the porch, was find a spot to hole up in-- and he could see a snow drift about twenty feet from the house, which was a perfect candidate. Al looked around again, spotting the skeleton of a dead bush that usually grew next to the porch. He grabbed it by the stem and pulled, planting his feet against the porch poles. It took a few minutes of yanking and tugging, but eventually, the roots broke free of the ground. He'd beg forgiveness from Pinako later, he rationalized as he drug the bush over to the snowdrift.

With his bare hands, Alphonse stripped all the of the twigs and sticks from the stem, then began digging into the snowdrift with it. Thankfully, the snow was not incredibly packed in, so it was much easier to dig out a pit than it would have been to build a full blown igloo-- which would have taken all night.

After about ten minutes, Alphonse had managed to dig out a tight little snow pit in the drift. He stood back to admire his handiwork for a moment, then pushed the twigs and sticks into the pit to use as a flooring. Wedging himself in the hole, Al pulled some snow over the entrance to use as a door, then wiggled around a few more minutes to give himself some elbow room.

Once he was as comfortable as possible, he rested at the bottom of the pit. It was small enough to trap in his body heat and wasn't all the cozy, but it would suffice until morning, he figured. It wasn't like he would do much sleeping anyway...

* * *

WHUMP

Al opened his eyes, blinking as he was blinded by the whiteness around him. He closed his eyes again, feeling the cold seeping past his jacket and remembering vaguely why he was buried in snow.

He stretched a little, then yelped as a foot broke through the entrance to his snow pit. Izumi's foot, to be exact. Alphonse wondered idly how the woman could stand to wear sandals in the snow as he dug himself out of the pit.

Izumi smiled toothily, dropping a suitcase at his feet when he stood.

"Have a nice night?" she asked, not waiting for an answer, "Here are your things, let's go. If we miss our train because of you, I'm kicking your ass." Ignoring his protests, she turned and began walking away. "And no, we don't have time for goodbyes."

Al opened his mouth, then shut it, looking back at the Rockbell house. Behind it, the sun was just barely peeping over the horizon, too weak to lighten the dark sky. The fields, usually waving with grain and tall grass, were completely ground down with snow, old wooden fences collapsing under the weight. The farmers would be busy come spring, Alphonse figured, trying to plow the fields again and fix all their fences. It felt even colder than the nighttime, if possible.

"Are you coming?!" Izumi shouted from where she was walking, already becoming small in the distance. Her hulking husband stopped to wait on Al as he picked up the pace, padding through the snow, thankful for boots. The three walked in relative silence to the train station, where the train was just rolling to a stop in the station. Getting a ticket and finding their seats, Alphonse sat by the window and stared quietly out into the dark train station. There were very few people out there that day-- just a few farmers seeing relatives coming in, or sending them off to avoid the winter storms that were sure to come. Very few people actually stayed in the town during the harsh winter months, most going somewhere warmer, out towards Lior, or far western Amestris.

Now that he thought about it, Al realized as the train began pulling out, the Elrics, the Rockbells, and a few farmers that _couldn't_ leave were the only ones that ever stayed the whole winter. He thought about the times when they were kids, when the snow got really bad, he, Ed and their mom would hole up with the Rockbells. It had been so much fun, he reflected as the train picked up speed, what with their mom and Winry's parents and Granny Pinako always struggling to come up with new things to entertain the three of them.

"Hey, Izumi said suddenly from where she sat across from Al, startling him from his thoughts, "isn't that your friend?"

Al blinked and opened the window, leaning out to see Winry running beside the train, red faced and holding something tightly in her hand.

"Winry?" he cried, leaning further out as she got closer to the window. His heart dropped for a second when she tripped over something in the snow, horrible scenarios of what could have happened flashing through his mind as she regained balance and got to the window. She slapped something in his hand and finally stumbled to a stop, hands on her knees and puffing for air. After a second, she stood straight and cupped her hands around her mouth.

"REMEMBER TO CALL!" she shouted over the roar of the train.

Al paused, half-smiled, then pulled his head in and closed the window. Sitting down, he looked at the crocheted earflap hat in his hand, smiling at the grotesque pattern of orange and purple. After a moment, he pulled it over his head, pressing blonde bangs close to his face.

Izumi stared at him.

"For someone who does such expert work with automail," she said with a slight smirk, "I don't see how she can't comprehend crocheting."

"I think it's rather nice," Al sniffed, "And it's made well-- it fits and it's not falling apart."

"Perhaps she's colorblind, then."

* * *

"He's _gone_?"

Hughes winced, holding the phone away from his ear. That was it-- he was dumping all his liquor into the sink and never drinking again. His head was _killing_ him.

"Yeah," he said after willing the throbbing to go away, "His teacher came and whisked him out of here before anybody could say anything."

On the end of the line, Roy sighed irritably, feeling his own headache build up. Now he had to send someone out and keep tabs on Alphonse. Boy, was this starting to sound familiar.

"Fine. She lives in Dublith, right?" He scratched this down when Hughes made an affirmative noise, passing the scrap of paper to Hawkeye, "And, uh, have you been drinking?"

Hughes paused. "How can you tell?"

"After getting on to me about it?" Roy teased, resting on his elbows, "I can tell because you're nowhere near as cheerful as you usually are. And I haven't heard a word about Gracia from you yet, and we've been on the phone for five minutes. New record. Did she chew you out?"

Hughes promptly hung up the phone, much to Roy's grand amusement, he was sure.

* * *

Yeah, this chapter will be rewritten sometime in the future, because I just shot through it after what...a month or two? Gah....I deserve to be shot, but I really just needed to move the story forward. Chapter 11 and NOTHING'S HAPPENED! WHERE DID MY OUTLINE GO? *wails*

And I started a Pokemon story like I said I would. xD

I'm such a procastinator.

And...for those that care...I GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL! GO ME! And...I'M ATTENDING TENNESSEE TECHNOLOGICAL UNIVERSITY IN THE FALL! W00T!

I got a Tennessee Hope Scholarship of 5,500, and I stil have more to pay... World of student loans, here I come...

Onwards! ^-^


	10. Identity Crisis

Chapter 10  
"Identity Crisis"

* * *

_Image marred by self-infliction  
Private wars on my soul waged  
Heart is scarred by dual volitions  
Juxtaposed and both engaged  
Kindle flame, a test of faith  
Pray help me see it through  
I put all my trust in you_

_Refine hate and love  
Fall afresh on me  
End this crisis of  
Identity_

_---"Identity Crisis" by Thrice---__

* * *

_

"No, you say it like this: "Dieses Hemd schaut auf Ihnen sehr nett."

Ed gave Gracia a narrow look, holding the box of shirts up for her to pick out of and hang on the clothing rack. He was helping her out in her small store that afternoon, his father having gone out to run some errand or another.

"Dieses... Hemd schaut... auf Ihnen... sehr nett," he repeated to her slowly, rolling the words around in his mouth, remembering each individual sound, "Dieses Hemd schaut auf Ihnen sehr nett. "That shirt looks very nice on you." I'm not going to be a clothing salesperson, you know."

Gracia laughed, although Ed could still detect the disquiet in her voice. No doubt she was a little nervous about Ed's rather odd amount of intelligence for a "nine-year-old," he figured.

"Think of it as building your vocabulary," Gracia said, taking the now empty box from Ed's hands. She broke out the bottom and folded it flat, putting it on the shelf with the rest of the boxes she had gotten from the recent donation of used clothes she had received. Ed picked up an old box of shoes at his feet, holding it up so she could consider it. She pointed to the shelf in the back after a moment.

"Go put any matching pairs up there," she said, then said something Ed didn't understand. At his blank expression, she shrugged. "Practice your colors while you're doing it."

Ed sighed, lugging the box over to the far corner where the shoe rack was. Gracia might have been as nice as her Amestrian counterpart, but she knew how to make you get up and work.

"Out loud!"

Ed scowled lightly. And she was stricter.

"Rot," he began, thinking of his old red coat. Was it rotting away where he left it, or had somebody found it?

"Rosa," And Rose. Was she alright?

"Blau," he thought of Winry's eyes, then chided himself angrily, shelving an old pair of boots. Every muscle in his back tensed up as he continued reciting the colors.

Despite his internal berating, each one he said he said reminded him of home. He considered his surroundings-- Germany was so... dull. Monochromatic browns and drab greys and black soot coating the buildings. Everyone wore dull colors, brown jackets, coal black outfits. Rich women tended to wear brighter colors, but they were few and far between the masses of the hungry.

"Braun, schwarz, grau," he said in order, in frustration. Brown, black, and grey, with occasional hints of brick red and even sometimes light blue, when the sky peeped out through the clouds of smog.

God, he was homesick. Amestris had been bright, and vibrant, and so full of life. The sky was a beautiful blue, people smiled at each other on the streets, you could see the sun, and you weren't choking on filth. Even with the toughest of times, you could count on being able to sit on the roof and watch the sunset to relax you.

Gracia looked up quietly from the rack of tawdry trinkets and jewelry she was hanging up, watching Edward's expression. A strained look of pain flickered across his face for a moment, then died away as he shelved the shoes, reciting his colors. Distantly, Gracia wondered if he missed England. Hoenheim had said the boy had lived there with his mother before she died. And now that he had recovered (and honestly, it had been touch and go for so long with him, Hoenheim had been a nervous wreck), could Germany even compare?

She put the thought from her mind. "Keep going," she encouraged.

"Weiß," Edward replied obligingly, "Gelb....um, grün...."

Suddenly, out of the blue, there was a sound that made Ed's blood run cold.

A bark.

Not just any bark. This sounded like the bark from a dog the size of a small horse.

And dogs the size of small horses had an uncanny ability to find Ed. It was like all obscenely large dogs within a five mile radius instinctively knew that he did not like having them jump all over him, so instead of heeding this and continuing on their merry way, they barreled straight at him doing ninety miles an hour, ignoring anything in between them and their intended target.

And this dog was no exception.

BAM

CRASH

Two clothing stands went flying, the shirt rack that Gracia had just finished stocking falling into a disorganized pile on the floor as something HUGE, black and white spotted, and obnoxiously slobbery made a clumsy turn, tail swinging in a wide circle as it leapt straight for a screaming Edward.

WHAM

Shoes flew everywhere as Edward was slammed back into the shelf he had just been stocking, arms splayed out as the huge...beast dragged him to the floor, then loomed over him, paws the size of a bears planted on either side of him, making escape impossible. Gracia looked on in horror...

...then sheer amusement as the enormous great dane began slobbering huge kisses across Ed's face, completely ignoring his victim's screeches of indignation that could've shattered glass.

It took a few moments, but Ed was able to push the dog's face away (though it continued drooling without abandon). As he did though, another cold nose, decidedly much smaller however, poked him in the side of the face. It was a red-brown furred dachshund, as aloof as the dane was serious.

"Autobahn! Kohl!"

The great gane straightened up and the dachshund perked its ears at the strangers voice. Seconds later, Hoenheim was at Ed's side, helping him up off the ground. Ed continued swearing and struggled away from his father, giving the older man a decidedly evil glare.

"What the hell?" he spat in nearly perfect German (cusswords were the first thing he learned, as was the word "short" and sixty-eight of its synonyms). "You go out on an errand to bring home mutts?"

Hoenheim looked nervous; actually, a bit of sweat was trailing down his face. "No, they weren't planned. They just belong to-- never mind, quickly--" he smiled politely to Gracia, pulling Ed out of the store. Both dogs trailed behind them, leashes dragging the cobblestone ground. The great dane-- Autobahn, apparently, lolled his tongue out, slobber dripping everywhere. He looked like he was grinning from ear to ear, Ed realized as his father tried dragging him up the stairs to their house.

He planted his feet into the ground. Hoenheim turned impatiently, golden eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

"What's going on?"

"Edward, I don't think--"

"Mr. Hoenheim!"

Ed turned and look at the voice, while his father closed his eyes, wincing.

Ed felt his stomach bottom out as a very familiar person came up the sidewalk, bending down to pick up the dogs' leashes.

"Ah," Hoenheim coughed, and Ed realized he was staring, slackjawed. His mouth snapped shut with a loud click of his teeth, "Ed, this is Alfons Heiderich." Alfons. Alphonse. Were they the same? He had messy blonde hair and large, blue eyes, and stood several heads taller than Ed. The resemblance didn't stop at looks-- the expression of kindness, the look of innocence, and the odd, worried tilt of the eyebrow that seemed hauntingly familiar. His mouth even twitched the same way-- Edward's memory didn't fail. He knew this person very well, even if he was a decade older than the one he remembered. Alfons turned to look down at Ed, switching the leashes to one hand and holding out the other to shake. Mind buzzing, Ed reached up with his own hand.

Alfons smiled, and Ed's trance was shattered. It wasn't that his smile was different; it was that it was indeed, like the rest of him, almost exactly the same as Alphonse's. It was grotesque to watch, Ed thought as he drew his hand back as quickly as he'd offered it, like some being was wearing a rubber suit of his brother.

It was like the Gate itself had spat out some mocking, twisted semblance of Al, the same way it had done his mother all those years ago.

"Edward," Hoenheim chastised as Alfons, with a slightly hurt and confused expression, dropped his hand. Ed couldn't bring himself to care, jerking away from his father and walking, lost, back down the sidewalk.

"Where are you going?" Hoenheim demanded. Ed barely managed to look over his shoulder. It was like his brain had drawn a blank.

"Back to Gracia's," he replied on automatic, without thinking, "To help her clean up that mess those stupid dogs made in her store." He looked over at Alfons. "Thanks for that, by the way," he snapped cuttingly.

Hoenheim sighed and ran a hand over his face as his son all but ran back to Gracia's shop. Bewildered, Alfons looked back at him.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder when someone down the street called his name. It was Dorochet, one of the members of his group that had fallen behind when Al took off after the dogs. The large man turned back down the corner, no doubt to get the others. "He acted like I was a ghost."

Hoenheim tried not to think on the irony of that phrase and made himself as nonchalant as he could, shrugging his shoulders. "He wasn't brought up to appreciate manners. Also, I think he's homesick, so he'll probably be defensive for a while." He paused, then lied, "He'll get used to you, and soften up."

Autobahn tugged on his leash, whining loudly as Ed vanished back into the shop, picking up shoes and shirts off the ground as he went.

* * *

Later that night, Edward sat at the top of the stairs, knees pulled up to his chest as he spied down into the living room of the apartment. On one side of him lay Autobahn, floppy lips hanging off the edge of the stair. One the other side was Kohl. The little dachshund was sitting regally, nose pointed in the air.

Ed scratched behind Autobahn's ear thoughtfully, barely noticing the dane's tail thumping the hardwood floor. Despite living there, he felt compelled to hide himself away from the people downstairs, all gathered around charts of flying… things…and laughing at jokes he still didn't understand in German context.

It made him ill to look at them. Dorochet, Martel, Roa, and Bido. They were all dead in Edward's mind, so it was near sickening to see them alive and well. In fact, he realized, it hurt more to look at them than it did to stare at Alfons Heiderich.

And this wasn't an isolated incident.

In Amestris, Edward's job had inevitably led him to helping lots and lots of people over the years. Here in Germany, he passed people he could vaguely remember, faces that were somewhat familiar to him.

That guy who ran that farming town in southern Amestris that needed help with moving water to the crops.

Or that lady who needed medicine delivered pronto to a hospital, and Ed had been the only sturdy pair of legs around.

Ed passed them on the street and recognized them, but he never remembered their name. It didn't matter, he knew, because no matter how well he had known them before, none of them would even remember his face.

It was like passing through a dream that he couldn't wake up from, and he was quickly realizing that, if seeing the people he once knew alive back in Amestris, seeing the dead was far, far worse. He was tormented with the idea of seeing some people long dead, Scar, Greed, Nina, and-- oh, whatever being that watched after godless alchemist, please don't let him run into his mother on the street. He wouldn't be able to handle that.

Downstairs, a chair suddenly scraped backwards.

"Hold on," he heard Alfons say, "I should probably let the dogs out one last time tonight before we get too buried in this."

Ed tensed and moved to stand. His plan had been to dart off to his room, but Alfons was at the bottom of the stairs too quickly, staring up at him with wide, blue eyes.

"Ah, hello," he said cautiously, then decided that dealing with the dogs was probably safer and less awkward, "Autobahn, Kohl, let's go out, ja?"

Autobahn whined and Kohl barely gave a twitch of his nose. Ed glanced between them, then stood the rest of the way. "Go," he said in Amestrian…or English, depending on how one looked at it, "Get on. Go out with him."

Autobahn whined one last time, then stood and shook himself off, obediently going down the stairs. Kohl followed close behind, nails clicking loudly against the wood.

Alfons opened the door and let them out, then smiled weakly up at the boy. Hoenheim had told him the boy spoke English, of course, but it still looked weird to hear it coming so fluently out of his mouth. "Thank you," he said nervously, holding up a hand to his mouth and coughing.

Ed darted him a narrow look, but didn't answer, sidling off to his room. He shut the door behind him.

That cough sounded familiar— but it didn't sound like Alphonse's. It was deeper, rawer, and carried a wheezing note.

It sounded like someone who was dying, Ed realized as he walked over to the window, staring down as Alfons walked out the alley from the door. He wrangled Autobahn and Kohl over to a gutter across the cobblestone street.

It sounded like… Master Izumi's cough.

Hoenheim sighed, running his hand through his hair as he watched his newest tenants prepare for bed in the living room, each throwing down pillows and blankets to stay the night. The rocketry plans lay scattered across the coffee table, as well as the kitchen table they had dragged in for more surface area. They were all covered in pencil smudges from writing and diagramming and no doubt more than a few cases of carpal tunnel were inflamed that night.

Alfons had been graciously given the couch by his team mates, Hoenheim noticed with approval. The blue-eyed parallel to his youngest son was a frail young man, he knew. Distantly, as he bid them good night and mounted the stairs to Ed's room, Hoenheim wondered how many years the doctor had given him to live with that cough. Three or four at the most.

Alfons was really more like Edward than Alphonse. Absolutely driven, with that look of hunger in his blue eyes to leave something behind, even if he died.

"Edward," Hoenheim said outside the barely-open door, "Ed, I'm coming in."

No answer.

Hoenheim rolled his eyes heavenward, then pushed open the door.

It was dark in the room, but as light from the hallway flooded in, it was quickly apparent that Edward was not in there. Almost panicking, Hoenheim opened his mouth to yell, then noticed something odd.

The window was open. He walked over to the huge window, seeing how Ed had propped it open. He looked down into the street below, then up towards the roof.

He couldn't see the sky through the smoke from the neighboring houses at first, then, squinting; Hoenheim saw a small, human figure sitting by their chimney. He leaned back in and took a deep breath to calm down.

After a moment of debate, he reached out and took one of the scarves Gracia had bought Ed, wrapping it around his throat and mouth. Propping his boot up on the window sill, he deftly—despite his outward age—pulled himself up to the roof.

Ed looked over sharply as his father appeared on the roof edge, scowling from where he was breathing behind his scarf. Hoenheim had had the same idea apparently, he noticed as the older man walked over to him, then sitting down on the other side of the chimney.

"What on earth are you doing up here?" Hoenheim asked after a second.

Ed shrugged.

"Dunno," he lied, "Alone time is nice, though I'd prefer to do it in an area where I can breathe. You know?"

Hoenheim chuckled, staring out over the rooftops. At least up here, one could see there was indeed a clean, clear sky above the layer of smog.

"Right."

They were silent. Hoenheim didn't push him, drawing absentminded doodles in the soot on the roof.

"It's stupid to feel like this, isn't it?" Ed asked after a few minutes, a little loudly. His voice was tight and angry. "To hate him cuz he looks like my brother. To hate all of them."

Hoenheim cleared his throat. "No. It's not—quite understandable, considering your circumstances. Though I don't know why you'd transfer your dislike from Alfons to the others, unless…?"

"They're dead, back home," Ed said in a raw sort of voice, "Al was holding Martel when Pride murdered her. He just stabbed right through Al's armor and killed her. I freaked out when I saw all that blood falling out of Al."

Hoenheim nodded. Did his son have any good memories left? It was a wonder he hadn't become twisted and cold over the years.

"I told you about parallel people," he said blandly, "I did warn you."

"I know," Ed huffed back, irritated, "but, I saw the map of this world. This place is HUGE. I thought the likelihood of me meeting him was null."

"True that."

They were silent again. Hoenheim decided to not mention that he had already knew about Alfons from the very beginning, but certainly hadn't expected to have the young man and his group of scientists moving in with him temporarily. Damn the Thule Society, he thought. They were the ones that wanted the rockets Alfons was designing.

"You know," Ed said after a stretch, thoughtfully, "I bet…if Al had been given the chance to grow up, he would've looked exactly like that. Different eyes though." He gave his father a weird look. "They looked like both yours and moms. Like a mix."

"Alphonse looked like your mother, through and through," Hoenheim replied with a chuckle, thinking of memories pastel-toned in retrospect, "And the son that hates me and refuses to forgive my sins is the one that looks exactly like me. Funny how that turns out."

Ed scowled behind his scarf, showing his opinion on just how "funny" that was. Hoenheim shifted around the corner of the chimney, sitting beside his son. He reached over and took Ed's chin, turning the blonde to face him.

"And, of course," he said, "you both have her smile. There's no changing that—and I'm not talking about that evil, demented grin you picked up from that teacher of yours."

Ed couldn't help but smirk. "I'm not smiling," he lied, "How can you tell anyway? It's dark and the scarf is over my face."

Hoenheim stood. "The same way I knew it was Al inside that armor," he replied ambiguously, "Let's go inside. Somebody's bound to spot us and think we're thieves."

Father and son left the roof, hopping down onto the window ledge, then slipping through the window back into the bedroom. Ed turned after shutting the window, pulling his scarf down from his face. He glanced over at Hoenheim and barked a laugh.

"What?" Hoenheim turned and saw Ed's face, half-blackened by soot, and correctly assumed that he too looked like a raccoon. "Oh—hush you. You look the same way. Worse, actually. Go to the bathroom and clean your face off."

Ed scampered from the room and Hoenheim turned and smiled up at the sky. He thought about days gone by, a beautiful countryside with a beautiful wife and two sons that loved and adored him—then he shut the curtain on the window and went to join Ed in scrubbing his face.

* * *

_That night, both Edwards had a dream._

_They dreamed of a giant mirror. There was nothing else—just white, white, white, and the mirror. It extended far beyond what the eye could see on all sides, and the two Edwards floated aimlessly through the air, as though gravity had drained from the strange place they were in._

_Both Edwards moved wordlessly towards the mirror. Its surface was like that of a pond, swelling and shining with the reflection of an unknown light source._

_ONe Edward, after a moment of watching his reflection rippling in the mirror, raised his hand to touch the surface. It was cool against his fingertips, yet glassy and hard to the touch despite its fluid appearance. He raised his eyes to his reflection…_

_…and jerked his arm back when he realized it had not moved an inch._

_The two Edwards stared at each other, one wild-eyed and the other one blank-faced. The wild-eyed Edward felt his heartbeat slow, now convinced this was a dream. He raised his hand again, as did the other Ed. That one had an automail arm, he realized as his reflection spread metal-jointed fingers across the glassy surface. Ed put his hand over it, spreading his own fingers to match the other._

_He opened his mouth to speak to the automailed Ed._

_Suddenly, a bright light flooded the entire place and they knew no more, aside from the high-pitched, raucous laugh of the Truth itself._

* * *

"Hmm..."

Ed stretched out, opening his eyes. That had been an odd dream, he thought as he stared at the wall. He sniffed the air, the heavy scent of bacon telling him that his father was making breakfast downstairs. He debated getting up.

"Five more minutes," he decided, closing his eyes and rolling over, snuggling up close to the huge, warm body beside him that smelled oddly like--

Ed's eyes snapped open to meet Autobahn's gaze, snuggled under the blanket with him and drooling on the spare pillow. Squished between them, like a small child, Kohl was lying on his back, all four legs in the air.

"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!"_

* * *

_

Mostly Ed angsting in this chapter, because he doesn't have too much to do yet. YET. I don't expect him to really like Heiderich at first. I mean, when my dad brought a new dog in when our old dog was on his last legs, I hated her. I thought she was just a replacement (though I love her to pieces now). I couldn't imagine if a replacement brother came along if mine died, or on the off chance that I'm transported to a parallel world.

Oh...an actual IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE HERE! DOWN HERE! YEAH! Um, my laptop and my "G" button on the keyboard used to have a wildly passionate marriage, but the "G" had an affair with the Spacebar, so Laptop, Spacebar, and "G" currently stopped talking to each other. "G" and Spacebar have to be mashed down with a large amount of emphasis for them to show up on Laptop, so um, yeah. If you spot a word like "workin," or "notworking," or even "notworkin," tell me in a review. Nobody's talking like a hyper country bumpkin in this story. At least not yet.

And the funny thing is, every time I hit the "Enter" key a little too hard, the CD-ROM drive pops open. It's like my laptop is giving me the middle finger. And now one hinge on the lid broke for NO APPARENT REASON. I'm not having technical difficulties, the outer shell that protects its tender innards is slowly falling apart!

Anyways... if anyone cares to take a look, I've edited the prologue so that it contains the lyrics of "The Tide Began to Rise" by Demon Hunter. No, it's not making it into a songfic (Al's not singing as he pummels Envy to a bloody pulp and rips the Philosopher's Stone from his chest o.O) -- just the lyrics that inspired me to type this story. I laugh though, because apparently this song is about God. Or something. And both Edward and I are as far from being religious as a cheesecake is. I also added some lyrics to a bunch of different songs above each chapter. I was just going to stick with the one above the prologue, but it sort of hit me that life isn't just one song, it's a myriad pieced and patched together to form one big quilt.

And thank you for the reviews, everybody! W00t! Chapter 9 had the most reviews out of all my chapters, with a total of 9! If anybody got thrown off because of the whole "Germany Ed died when Amestris Ed came through the Gate" thing Hoenheim spieled, I'm really sorry. I look at it like...just because we readers know what actually happened, it doesn't mean the characters realize it as well. Al and Roy have guessed at what actually happened, but Hoenheim is just assuming he's right when saying the German Edward died, when in actuality....oops! Said too much! xD

And yes, I actually went to a thesaurus and counted out the synonyms for "short". And for when my dearest Sierra gets around to reading this: purple speedo. I LIED. But you do inspire me greatly.

-Foxy

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	11. Thinking of You

Chapter 11  
"Thinking of You"

* * *

_I was so happy when you smiled  
Your smile breaks through the clouds of gray  
far from the sunny days that lie in sleep  
waiting with patience for the spring  
where the flowers will bloom, renewed again  
knowing there's more beyond the pain of today  
Although the scars of yesterday remain  
you can go on living, as long as your heart believes  
You can't be born again, although you can change  
Let's stay together,  
always.  
---"For Fruits Basket" by Ritsuko Okazaki---_

* * *

"And then, mommy said it's going to be a boy! Do you think it'll be a boy, Miss Winry? I hope so! I want a brother like Ed, or Al. Do you think he'll be like them? I bet he'll be fun. We can play games, and I can pull him _in my wagon _with Fluffy. You think he'll like Fluffy? I hope so. I hope Fluffy's alright. You think Miss Callister is taking care of Fluffy?"

Winry stared blankly at Alicia over her locked fingers, hands hiding the deep grimace on her face.

"I think..." she said slowly, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as the little girl yawned, rubbing her eyes, "...it's time for you to go to bed."

Alicia looked horrified at the very notion. "But I'm not tired!"

Gracia chuckled, taking Alicia's hand. "C'mon. Let's go lay down and you can listen to mommy's tummy, okay?" She winked at Winry, who briefly debated the existence of angels. Hughes had gotten the _brilliant_ idea to give Alicia the last of the ice-cream _an hour before her bedtime_. Two hours later, and she was finally coming off her sugar high. Even Ed, still laying in his hospital bed and busily putting together a puzzle, had a look of relief on his face as Alicia was led away to her room.

Pinako of course, had escaped long ago with a shrug and a "not her problem" excuse and promptly went to bed.

Winry sighed and stood, letting her back pop loudly. Reaching down, she rolled the mat with Ed's puzzle on it up, preserving it for another day. Ed flopped back into his pillows and smiled weakly up at her. There were dark shadows under his eyes and black bruises around his automail ports-- the winter was not good to him. He spent his days moving between games and puzzles to vomiting blood in the bucket by his bed, and his nights tossing and turning fitfully, clutching his automail.

Ed held up his hand, signing. "_Talks a lot."_

"Yes, she does." Winry agreed, lowering his bed flat and pulling away the extra pillows used to prop him up. He nestled in, closing heavily-lidded eyes. He looked like he had gone to sleep for a moment, but then he opened them again.

_"Going to bed?" _"In a moment," Winry replied, "When you're comfortable."

_"And Al?"_

Winry paused for a moment as she unfolded the heavier quilt, laying it over Ed's sheets. He wiggled his toes under the cover and smiled at them.

"I'm sure..." she trailed off, knowing she about to lie, "He's been in bed for while now." God only knew what torture his teacher was putting him through at the moment.

Ed's eyes flickered and he yawned, resting his flesh hand on his chest for a moment before lifting it up to fingerspell again.

"_Where did he go?"_

"I told you," Winry said as she picked up a small doll off the ground and put it on the nearby windowsill, so that one leg dangled off. Its button eyes stared up at her blankly. "He's in Dublith. It's far south of here, so it's warm."

"_Warm…?" _Ed faltered enough that Winry wondered if he understood the concept of warm, _"…Can I go there? I like… warm."_

"Not now, silly. You have to be able to travel first, and you haven't reached that milestone yet."

Ed tipped his head curiously.

"_Walking?"_

"That will come soon," Winry said after a moment, "When spring comes, probably. For now, you should just stay in bed… and _sleep._"

Ed caught the stressed command and finally relaxed, closing his eyes. Winry watched until his breathing slowed down before cutting the lights out, stepping into the kitchen.

She stared out the window over the sink. Snow was piled in huge drifts, coming up to the top step of the porch. She and Hughes had gone out and shoveled the driveway at one point, but when they found the road into town was not clear, they had given up.

That had been a week ago. The "family" was surviving on canned foods now (and soup, in Ed's case. He just threw everything else up.) and the heater was running on fumes. Life now consisted of bundling up every morning, eating a canned breakfast, taking care of Ed, watching the snow fall, listening to their radio, eating a canned lunch, taking care of Ed, and eating a canned dinner before going to sleep wrapped in thick comforters and a hot water bottle. The ice cream Hughes has given Alicia had been found at the bottom of the freezer, hiding under a chunk of ice. The ice outside had snapped the power lines, making it impossible to get a call out. She wondered how Roy was taking the lack of phone updates.

Even Alicia, who made the best of everything, was beginning to get bored.

Winry looked away from the window and opened the cabinet. There were enough canned foods to last two more days-- unless one of them went nuts from vienna sausage preservatives and killed everyone in the house before then. She bit her lip.

"Somebody's going to have to go to town," Winry jumped at the sound of Pinako's voice. Her grandmother was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded over her chest. She was wearing her nightgown, and had her pipe clutched tightly in her teeth. "Or we'll have nothing to eat."

"I know," Winry looked back at the cabinet, "I'll talk to Hughes about trying to go tommorow..."

"You would have to go with him. You know this town isn't friendly to strangers."

Winry stared into the cabinet, fingers hooked around the handle on the door. The metal was freezing, biting into her skin.

Pinako paused a moment, then slipped away without another word.

She would take care of Ed, Winry knew. Slowly, listening to the hinges squealing, she closed the cabin door. She looked out the window again. The yard seemed ethereal, white snow blinding against the backdrop of the night sky.

Winry thought about Ed. She thought about Al, then she thought about the cold and the painful gnawing in the pit of her stomach from where she had not eaten dinner. She listened as she heard the put-put-put of the heater as it finally died and cranked to a stop. She thought about Alicia, lying between Hughes and the pregnant Gracia. She thought about the shovel lying abandoned on the porch.

Winry turned, as though she were an automaton, then stiffly walked to her room to put on another jacket, a scarf, gloves, a hat, a water bottle and watertight boots. She trudged downstairs quietly and stopped in the kitchen doorway, looking down to where she had forgotten to close the door to the operating room. The lights were out in there, but the moon streaming in through the window revealed Ed, illuminating his blonde hair. She stared quietly at him for a long moment before walking out on the porch.

If the cold inside was bad, outside was unbearable. For the first time, Winry's silent reverie was broken and she even considered going back inside.

She thought about Ed and the bruises on his body, and all hesitation left as she stepped down into the path she and Hughes had already shoveled. Despite having snowed, the path had barely filled up, just convenient enough for her to make it to the end of the driveway without much shoveling. The dark sky made the snow all the more brighter, and the only noise she heard was the steady sound of her boots crunching through the snow.

At the end of the already dug path stood a wall of snow. It shone brilliantly in the moonlight, a perfect whiteness that seemed to mock her. Winry raised her shovel and began digging at it, opening caves and holes in the wall that she could not see before. Slowly, but steadily, she advanced onto the road, turning in the direction of town. After a while, she began sweating and her hands began to hurt, blisters slowly forming on her palms. She gritted her teeth and carried on though, despite knowing full well that sweating as hard as she was in the cold was potentially fatal.

Not having a watch-- she really needed to fix that actually, now that she thought about it-- she had no idea how much time had passed while digging, but with the moon being far to the west, she had a feeling it had been several hours since she started, and it would be even longer before the sun began rising. Of course, it was her luck that she probably picked the longest night of the year to do this.

Exhausted, out of breath, cold, and thirsty, Winry crouched down on the ground, taking a sip from the water bottle she had in her jacket pocket. After she had gotten her breath under control, her ears caught the sound of something further up ahead.

Running water.

At first, she thought it was her imagination, but after a few minutes of listening, she definitely was able to pinpoint the sounds of water running over rocks and ice. It was the creek-- and judging from the sounds, it was just up ahead. Winry got back on her feet and began digging again, this time managing to keep her breathing in check. Slowly, but surely, the sound of water got louder and louder as she chipped away at the snow, when suddenly--

--she froze, stumbling back as her shovel hit the last bit of snow that stood between her and the creek. It crumbled away, along with the drift underneath her. Where she had just been standing, she could see the creek rushing through, black water splashing against the rocks and forming thin ice in spots. Crawling back to the creek edge, she could see that there was no snow to be found down there, but the bridge was absolutely covered. The snow on the other side looked like it was at a lower level too, seemingly coming up to just her mid thigh.

After a moment's deliberation, she slowly edged down the creek bank, mapping out the outcropping rocks that could provide stepping stones to the other side. She threw the shovel to other side, watching as it stuck into a snow drift with a loud crunching noise.

_"This is so stupid,"_ she thought, even as she stepped to the first rock, throwing her arms out to balance herself, _"I'm going to get myself killed. I always yell at Ed for doing stupid stuff like this--!"_

She made it to the second stone, then the third. The fourth was a bit trickier, as it had a narrow point and little surface for her boot to get on. Growing more confident, she reached for the fifth one and--

--made it.

Sighing with relief, she stepped onto the final rock, slipped on its icy surface, and fell into the water.

For a moment, Winry didn't think-- she only felt. It was like she was being attacked by icy needles all over her body, even as she scrambled to her feet in the waist deep water. Shaking and crying, she stumbled blindly over to the edge, grabbing the embankment. She was missing a glove and her hat was gone, as was her water bottle, but could barely bring herself to care as she hoisted her wet body up the edge, mud and ice caking on her fingers. She curled up into a small ball beside her shovel, shivering and crying as she tried to fight the bone-chilling cold pervading her senses.

_"I like... warm."_

Ed's words-- though not really words at all, but spelling on clumsy fingers-- came to mind. She distantly wandered what time it was, for Ed periodically woke up in the night to throw up. Granny would take care of him, she was certain, if anything happened to her.

In jerky motions, Winry pulled her sopping wet jacket off, then wrung out her hair as best she could. She stood, body protesting angrily as she overode the primal instinct to curl back up into a ball to keep warm, instead grabbing the shovel with already frozen fingers. With one, unsteady movement, she swept a few inches of snow off the ground and stepped through. She no longer had time or the energy to cut a perfect pathway and instead moved the shovel in sideways sweeps, moving just enough snow to take another step.

Winry wondered after a while if her toes were turning black. Would she feel it if she accidentally whacked her foot with a shovel? Her elbows and knees were beginning to hurt from the cold and she wondered if that was how her grandmother felt when complaining of arthritis.

Soon after, she stopped wondering at all. A dulll buzz filled her ears and she couldn't hear anything, not even as she fell to one knee, then the other, all while holding her shovel.

The world went dark around her.

* * *

"Miss Rockbell?"

Winry felt warm. She shifted uncomfortably, dimly aware that she wearing a nightgown way too big for her. She had been dreaming of... nothing. Just a blank darkness that frightened her.

"Miss Rockbell? Are you awake now?"

"Ummm-hmmmmm..."

"Ah, very good. You're lucky we found you. You might've frozen to death."

Winry finally opened her eyes. She was lying on her side, facing the wall of...

...Resembool church. She sat up, staring down the narrow aisles of pews. Several men, dressed in thick jackets and boots to stave off the outside cold, were standing off to the side, murmuring quietly. They were all holding shovels and ice picks. Beside her stood a large woman with red hair-- the school teacher Ms. Fennings. Winry looked down. She was wrapped up in blankets on an old mattress, and wearing an enormous nightgown. A brief check told her that her toes weren't black with frostbite and were still there.

"I understand that you've never attended the church," Ms. Fennings was saying, as Winry tuned in, "for reasons of your own. Unfortunately, most of the other houses are locked up and abandoned. The church is the only one left we were able to bring you to."

Winry looked around again and realized that yes, people were staying in the church. The pews on the left side were pushed aside to make room for mattresses. However, there were only about five or so mattresses.

"Where's the rest of the town?" she asked, her mouth feeling as though it were full of cotton. Her head was fuzzy, and it felt like she was forgetting something.

"We managed to dig a path to the train station, and defrost the rails, so that people that needed to leave could," Ms. Fennings explained, "That's why it took so long to head out to your house. The only ones left are myself, the priest, the store owner, and the farmers."

"Oh," Winry said weakly.

Ms. Fennings continued talking.

"You were very lucky the men here started to dig out towards your house this morning, or they wouldn't have found you. And honestly, what were you trying to do, crossing the creek like that? Very foolish."

Winry didn't answer, slowly getting to her feet. The oversized nightgown she was wearing obviously belonged to Ms Fennings, as did the socks with red hearts stitched into them.

"You said the store owner was here?" she asked shakily, looking around for her own clothes. She spotted them hanging over the heater.

Ms. Fennings nodded. "He is, but you really shouldn't be getting up and running around just yet. You should rest."

Winry studiously ignored this, taking her clothes and going through the far door where the choir was supposed to enter. Unfortunately, Ms. Fennings followed her as she changed into her clothes. They were sweaty, but they were warm and would last the much quicker trip back to her home.

"I've got someone to take care of," she said, killing all talk from Mrs. Fennings, "I've got someone to go to back to. I have to."

She distantly wondered how many times Ed had said that during his travels.

* * *

Alphonse, on the other hand, was not having the same problems as Winry.

In fact, they were quite the opposite.

After being dumped on Yock Island (something Teacher had insisted on, because for crying out loud, who didn't like dumping people on tropical islands?) he had stripped down to just his tank top and shorts, and was still hot. He desperately wanted sandals, but all he had were his boots and he was definitely NOT going barefoot, what with scorpions and snakes about.

Lazily, he picked a bit of meat out from between his teeth with the machete Teacher had given him. He had proven better at catching food than when he was younger, able to catch small rabbits and fish with relative ease. Al eyed the pile of tiny bones he had amassed, picked clean of meat.

The leaves next to him shuddered, and he barely turned, watching out of the corner of his eye as a familiar face poked out of the bushes. When he was younger, it had been "a monster", but now, it was downright comical to see Izumi's other student wearing the mask and costume meant to frighten him.

Nothing was said as the two stared each other down.

"I guess I'm supposed to run?" Al said blandly, sheathing the machete. The masked face hesitated for a moment, then nodded up and down in silence. Al slowly got to his feet, smiling widely. He wondered distantly if this is what Ed felt like when he was being a jackass as "the monster" climbed the rest of the way out of the bushes, nervously tottering on stilts to make himself seem bigger. Ed and Al had missed this when they were younger, too busy running away in fear.

Silence ensued, then Al's expression shifted for just a moment, and the two were off, the monster on Al's heels as he dashed through the forest, narrowly missing trees and pitfalls alike. Despite seemingly going at random, Al led his chaser through a carefully plotted way through the trees, following the marks he had cut in the trees. Sharp eyes caught the sight of the log he had laid as a path marker. Reaching it, he leapt over the log, sailed nicely over the patch of dirt and vegetation behind it, and over the log on the other side. He rolled on landing, pulling up and watching.

The "monster", ungainly with his oversized costume, did not make it as far. He leapt over the first log and landed in the uprooted plants Al had used to cover a pit he had dug over the past few days.

WHAM

Al peered over the edge of the pit, smirking down as Mason yelled angrily, throwing his mask off.

"Just because you're older doesn't mean you can push me around!" he yelled, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice, "If your brother were here--!"

"If Brother were here, he wouldn't do this--" Al tossed a vine he had cut earlier down to Izumi's assistant, tying his end off to a tree. "Be careful climbing up."

Quickly, before the other boy could climb up the pit wall, Al darted off into the underbrush of the forest, heading back to where he had hidden his "bed"-- nothing more than palm leaves laid across cool dirt. He had pulled some palms and ferns over it to hide himself from Mason. He was semi-confident that he wouldn't be startled awake anytime soon.

He laid down on the palm branches, pulling a broadleaf plant down over him-- thankful he had chosen to wear a black tank top instead of his red one the day Izumi dropped him off on the island. It helped him blend in-- not to mention that his skin was beginning to brown from the sun, and he had little white scars from bug bites on his legs.

Bugs were horrible, he had come to realize. When he was younger, they hadn't bothered him as much-- and he had definitely forgotten about their annoying itchiness while he was a suit of armor. Now though, he found himself clawing at his bug bites to soothe the itching. Thankfully, he had discovered that rubbing his skin with oil from the fish he caught helped to keep the mosquitoes away.

He sniffed himself. The only downside to that, of course, was the godawful smell.

Another thing that sucked was the _hunger_. It seemed like no matter how many fish he ate or rabbits he caught, he couldn't seem to fill up. He stripped the animals down to the bones, ate every bit of them after cooking them (and even raw, when there were wet nights and he couldn't find any dry wood to build fire). Heart, muscle, organs, eyes-- he ate every bit of them. He even tried the bones, but discovered that despite grinding them up, they were pretty much indigestible.

Al couldn't remember being as hungry as he was the first time on Yock's Island. Did Ed give him parts of his catches without him noticing? It would seem like the Ed-thing to do, after all.

He heard branches cracking in the distance and he froze under his hideout of leaves as Mason thundered by, not even stopping to look around him. Al released a breath, tucking his hands under his head and smiling. Picking a palm frond off from his bed, he absently chewed on it, thinking about home.

And thinking about home was probably worse than the bugs and the hunger.

Definitely worse, he thought, rolling on to his side and curling slightly into a ball. He would wait until nightfall to hunt for food again. It made it easier to avoid "the monster".

* * *

"Master Izumi, I think you're just going to have to go in and formally teach him!"

Izumi looked up from where she was finishing up in the shop, packing away her butcher knives for the night as Mason came in, looking disheveled. His giant monster mask was cracked and broken.

"He's not re-learning how to fight, he's learning hide-and-seek tactics!" he cried, "He lead me right into a trap this time! I can't even find him at night now!"

"Brat's learned something after all," Izumi murmured, smirking. After a moment, she looked back at her assistant. "Oh, go get a bath. And quit whining; your voice is irritating."

Deflated, Mason stalked out the door as Sig was coming in. He looked at her with furrowed eyebrows.

"What are you going to do?" he asked gruffly, wrapping an enormous arm around her shoulders as she came forward and hugged him tightly around his midriff.

"What else? Beat the hell out of him, of course."

"Of course."

* * *

Alphonse was silent as a ghost as he moved between the trees, one part of him watching for dens and animal nests while the other half kept a careful lookout for the monster. He felt like both predator and prey, and it made him feel perfectly in tune with the forest. All was one and one was all, was his first lesson of alchemy, alongside equivalent exchange.

Al spotted a den in the dark and he crept up on it, hunching by the entrance. Two ears stuck out of the hole for a split second and, with a quick flash of his hand, he caught the rabbit neatly. Before he could feel any remorse or second thoughts, he killed it with the machete.

It didn't even squeak.

Suddenly, the bushes right by his face rustled angrily and he jerked back, but not in time to avoid a powerful blow to the face that sent him tumbling head over foot. Something tall and white slammed into him, knocking the machete out of his hand. Al yelped once and the thing shrieked in his face, swooping out of the clearing as quickly as it came.

Nervously, Al stood up, looking around. All he could see was forest. He didn't dare leave his spot though-- his machete had fallen and he couldn't see it amongst the tree roots. If he left now, he would never find it again.

Another bone-chilling shriek.

Al felt the hair on the back of his neck raise up. He turned in time to see "the monster." This one was smaller in stature though, but the mask was sprayed in what looked like blood. Before Al could get a closer look, the monster reared forward, directing a swift punch at Al, which he barely dodged. He avoided the kick too, but was taken out by the monster's hard body slam. He keeled sideways into a patch of bushes, then jumped to his feet.

Like the white thing, the monster was gone too. Breathing hard and adrenaline pumping, but too nervous to go anywhere, Al crouched down on the ground against a tree and remained perfectly still, staring into the darkness.

What he wouldn't do to have Ed at his back instead.

* * *

I overuse commas. Forgive me. I should probably donate some of my commas to the Chinese.

Excuses for Lateness:

1. My insane keyboard. E is now acting up and is hyper-sensitive, (It looked like I had a heart attack and fell on the E everytime I typed it. Eeeeeeeeeeeeed. OH WELL.), while G and Enter have to be mashed down with Super Saiyan power to work. Thus turning me off of typing. But now I has a new laptopz.

2. Making sure $15,100 in scholarships GETS TO THE RIGHT PLACE OH MY GOD.

3. I'm a procrastinator from hades.

4. My outline is in shambles due to computer problems. I'm serious. BUT NOW I HAS A NEW LAPTOPZ.

5. ...Video games. I have re-discovered my love for Zelda. THE ULTIMATE OH FUCK YES. Ocarina of Time and Majora's Mask... *itching to start a new fic with poor Link*

6. Florida. Sweet, sweet vacation to the seaside. T'was BEAUTIFUL. "By the sea, my dear readers, that's the life I covet, by the sea, my dear readers, oh I know you'd love it..."

7. Moving into my new apartment~! I'm sitting here now, at my desk, in an apartment with four girls!

*is shot*

SPRING IS COMING YES IT IS. I love how the seasons in the story are completely opposite of real life. I need synchronization. I keep walking out of my house in my thick coat, scarf, and a hat in the middle of July. I also didn't plan on Winry waking up in the church, but... spur of the moment thing. I rather thought it was ironic. But I dislike mass religion (particularly Christianity), so I won't keep it in the story for too much longer...I suppose. And Winry's not going to go all "BELIEVE IN GOD CUZ I SLEPT IN A CHURCH DURING THE WINTER."

Ugh.

_**REVIEW YOU LIKE REVIEWING YES YOU DO REVIEW NOW. I ORDER YOU.**_


	12. Moving In

Chapter 12  
"And Moving In"

* * *

_Thank you for being a friend  
Traveled down the road and back again  
Your heart is true; you're a pal and a confidant  
And if you threw a party  
Invited everyone you knew  
You would see,  
the biggest gift  
would be from me  
and the card attached would say:  
"Thank you for being a friend!"_

_-Andrew Gold-_

* * *

Winry had only seen Resembool station a few times from her current angle—where she was sitting inside the train, staring out of the window—and she wasn't entirely sure if she really liked it. It was empty minus herself, Pinako, Ed, and the Hughes' family, the only other sign of life being the ticket bearer and a dead leaf scraping the far corner, caught in a spider's web.

She shivered as a cool breeze wafted in through the window. Outside the train, her grandmother cleared her throat.

"Now, Winry," Pinako patted the train window, barely able to reach it due to her diminished height, "I don't want you to let city life get to your head. Just because you get used to it doesn't make it any less dangerous."

Winry laughed, leaning out the window. "Same about country-life grandma. Don't worry though, I'll be fine."

"Of course you will," Pinako huffed, "And I will too. Just because I'm old doesn't mean I can't show someone who's boss. The majority of the villagers are back from the winter, so I'm not entirely alone."

Den chuffed deep in his throat, and Pinako nodded down to him. "Plus, I have your mutt. So I feel _perfectly safe._"

Winry laughed at the sarcasm in Pinako's voice. Beside her, Gracia chuckled, laying a hand delicately on her belly. She wasn't showing much yet, but she had begun doing that out of instinct, something Hughes found incredibly adorable. He was giving her goo-goo eyes at that very moment, Winry noted.

Pinako leaned up to look at Gracia. "If you want a free doctor for that baby, you come on back down here. I helped my daughter-in-law give birth to Winry, and Trisha to Edward and Alphonse. So I know how those things go."

Gracia nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

Beside Hughes, Ed looked up when he heard his name. He was wrapped in a quilt, with a red earflap hat shoved over his head. He gave Pinako a disgruntled look, yawning silently before burying his face in his scarf again. His wheelchair was laying folded up in the shelf above their heads, along with Winry's giant briefcase.

The group chuckled-- it was way too early in the morning for any of them to really be up-- it was still somewhat dark outside and freezing. The whole group was bundled in winter-wear and blankets for the long journey to Central City. Even Pinako, tough old bird as she was, had a blanket wrapped about her shoulders.

Winry gave her grandmother a scrutinizing look.

"Are you sure you'll be alright walking back home alone?" Winry asked quietly, "It's really cold, you should ask the ticket bearer to help you…"

"I told you, I'll be fine." Pinako said, pulling her pipe out of her mouth when the train suddenly lurched. She smiled as Ed nearly slipped out of his seat and was caught by Hughes, who wrapped his arm around Ed's shoulders. In Hughes' lap, Alicia yawned, leaning her pigtailed head on he fathers chest.

The train lurched again and Pinako stepped back as it started moving. She waved, and Winry waved too, shivering again in the cold January air as she hung out the window. The train picked up speed as it left the station, and soon, it was nothing more than a speck on the horizon. After a moment, she reached over and shut the window to keep the heat from the furnace in. She settled back into her seat.

Hughes smiled, looking over his glasses at Winry.

"Major Hawkeye called this morning," he said, garnering her attention, "She and Scieska made a list of all the available houses in Central for you to look at tomorrow morning."

"Oh," Winry smiled at the thought of the bumbling librarian. She pulled her pink hat tighter over her head, feeling the large pompom stick straight in the air. "That would be perfect."

"Well, for tonight at least, you'll be moving in with us," Gracia said quietly, "All your automail things can stay in the garage until you find the home you want."

Winry sighed, looking out the window at the passing snow-covered trees, then looking back at Gracia and Hughes accusingly.

"Are you like, the perfect family? I swear, you've done so much already--!" she muttered, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair, "I'm never going to find a way to repay you. Ever."

Gracia laughed.

"Oh sweetie, it's not about being repaid; it's just something we do for the people we care about," she reached over, running her fingers through Winry's long hair, "Just as you take care of Edward and Alphonse and all your other patients."

Winry leaned into the touch for a moment—vaguely familiar, for her own mother used to do the same thing—then she pulled away without a word, staring out the window. She didn't care what Gracia had to say on the matter—she would find a way to repay them.

Winry sunk a bit in her seat as she tried to think of something, but nothing came to mind.

She _would_.

"She also said she'd have help there at the Grand Central when we arrived," Hughes continued, "She didn't say who, but I imagine she has the 'whole jolly gang' in work clothes to get all of your automail equipment on."

Winry smiled lightly, putting her chin in her gloved hand as she watched the snowy fields go by. The train was drafty and it rocked something horrendous, but she was tired, and fell asleep several minutes later.

Gracia smiled, reaching over and stroking the knots out of the bottom of Winry's ponytail, then looking at Hughes. She laid her hand on her stomach.

"Being able to keep them safe in our home… with what you said is going on in Central," she began, sighing, "It's really the least we can do."

"I just hope these terrorists are rounded up soon," Hughes leaned forward. "I was talking to Hawkeye this morning, and they've apparently targeted the Green and Whirlwind Alchemists. Neither of them were involved in the Ishbalan Rebellion."

Gracia felt her gaze wonder to Ed's sleeping face.

"Whirlwind got away," he continued, not really wanting to scare his wife but wanting to talk to her anyway, "But Green—well, his specialty was plants, and that's not particularly useful in a building."

"Do you think…" Gracia hesitated, "…Alphonse becoming an alchemist of the state would be publicized, wouldn't it? Would he and Edward be in danger?"

Hughes looked seriously at his wife, subconsciously reaching around and snaking an arm around the sleeping Ed's shoulders.

"It's…"

A pause.

"They probably will be."

Gracia looked out the window, feeling a prickling sensation in the corner of her eyes. She wiped the beginnings of the tears away furiously, watching as trees and fields flew by outside, spotting the occasional frost-covered cow as the sun slowly came up over the horizon. She rested her head against her seat, a fear settling into the pit of her stomach.

Hughes watched her in silence, slipping his hand into his pocket.

He felt the photo album of his family, then the gun strapped to his side under his coat, running his fingers along the line of the trigger.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

"Winry…Winry, sweetie, time to wake up…"

Winry mumbled unintelligibly, head dropping from where it was still propped up in her palm. She had the sensation of falling and she jerked back abruptly, startling Gracia into withdrawing the hand on her shoulder.

"Winry, are you okay?"

"Oh—" Winry blinked, reaching up to rub the grit from her eyes, "Yeah—just…surprised. I don't usually wake up on trains."

Gracia laughed. "Well, you slept almost the entire ride. You must be really hungry. "

Winry blinked in surprise and looked out the window. They _had_ arrived, and the sky was dark as jet, stars winking brilliantly down on them. The station was quiet except for another train that was apparently from East City.

As if on cue, her stomach growled loudly and she grimaced, putting a hand over her belly. Gracia laughed.

"Well, when the luggage gets packed onto the trailer, we'll head to a café we know of nearby. Come on, now. Everybody's here to help."

Winry laid still for a moment, then slowly got up, cracking her back as she reached up and grabbed her briefcase, hanging the strap off her shoulder. She followed Gracia after making a half-hearted attempt at fixing her hair. Outside, a few people were also getting off the East City train, being greeted by their friends and family. Winry looked around, spotting a horse trailer with several people around it.

She walked over to the huge pile of suitcases and crates that the attendants were carting off the train car. A quick check told her that they had separated hers from everyone else's, so she grabbed two suitcases and headed over to the trailer that was hooked to the back of a military-grade car.

Havoc turned when he heard her approach, smiling around his cigarette.

"Evening, Miss Rockbell," Havoc said brightly, tipping his purple hat to her. He was in plain clothes, a thick black coat buttoned up to his throat, and a scarf to match his hat. He reached over and put out his cigarette on the side of the ticket stand, then put the butt in his pocket when he couldn't find a trashcan. "Here to help!"

Winry stared at the group, feeling her grip on the suitcase handles loosen a bit. She recognized a few of the faces—Havoc, Hawkeye, Mustang, but there were several others she did not know—a tall, white haired man, a short and squat red-headed man who avoided Hawkeye's little black dog like the plague, and a small dark-haired young man with thick glasses.

Roy smiled wanly at her. He was still in uniform, Winry noted, a heavy greatcoat buttoned over it. He also tipped his hat to her. Hawkeye stood stiffly at his side, hand tight around her dog's leash.

Winry stared at them blankly for a moment, then held out the two suitcases.

"Alright," she handed them both to Roy, watching as the dark-haired man's eye widened in surprise at the weight of the automail tools, "Here you are, and here you are…"

She passed off the immensely heavy suitcases and the crates of automail and tools to the men, watching with a smirk as they struggled to lift them into the back of the trailer. She glanced at the one with glasses who was having a particularly difficult time lifting things.

"You," she called him over and he gratefully pushed Havoc the crate he had been struggling with, wandering through the piles of luggage to her.

"Kain Fuery," he said sheepishly, pulling his hat off and clutching it tightly, "It's very nice to meet you."

She smiled at him, already liking the slightly awkward young man.

"Can you get Edward and put him in the car?" she asked, gesturing to where the young blonde was sitting in his wheelchair, trying to hide inside his blanket. He peered over the edge of his red scarf at them when he heard his name. "He doesn't like being left alone, so stay with him, okay? And be gentle when you put him in there."

Fuery hesitated, then nodded before making his way over to Ed. Winry watched him as he kneeled in front of the blonde child, talking to him in a slightly hopeful voice. After a moment, she turned away to continue getting her things.

"Whew," the red-haired man gasped, wiping sweat from his forehead, "That's a lot of automail equipment, miss. Feels more like you're lugging dead bodies around."

Winry glanced up at him as she shoved the last crate in, moving so that Havoc and Roy could slam the heavy metal doors shut.

"No," Winry deadpanned, "There was no point bringing those here—there's plenty of places in Resembool to leave them."

The red-head paused, then barked a laugh, padlocking the door and handing the key to her. She slipped it into her pocket and shook his proffered hand.

"Name's Heymans Breda," he said, "Welcome to Central. We'll take good care of you here, miss."

The white-haired man standing over Breda nodded stiffly to her, reaching over and shaking her hand as well.

"Warrant Officer Vato Falman," he said formally, "It's very nice to meet you."

"Lighten up, Falman," Breda joked, elbowing the taller man playfully in the stomach, "Honestly. We're not in the office, you can pull the stick out of—YEEE--!"

Winry jumped when Breda screamed. The large man bolted about ten feet away, leaving the little black dog standing there. Falman smiled thinly, kneeling to scratch behind the dog's ear.

"This is Second Lieutenant Black Hayate," he introduced the puppy. Winry laughed and bent to rub Black Hayate on the head, then turned to look back as everybody went back to their cars, talking amongst themselves.

Havoc and Hawkeye got into the car that was hauling the trailer, and Winry spotted Fuery quickly climbing out of the backseat to go join Breda and Falman in their car—borrowed (with a ton of paperwork, since Falman was _not_ a reliable driver) from the Central car lot. Hughes climbed in with them, and Winry could only assume that Gracia and Alicia were in the front passenger seat, and there was no room for her.

Winry looked behind her when she heard the train whistle, watching as it slowly trundled out of the station, smoke vanishing into the dark night sky. After a few moments, she turned back to the car, where she knew Ed and someone else was sitting in the backseat.

Roy looked over when Winry climbed into the backseat beside him, raising his eyebrow so that it was in danger of disappearing into his hairline. She slammed the door and pressed herself against it, looking past Roy once to where Ed lay asleep against the other door. His wheelchair lay folded up on the floor at his feet. She then deliberately ignored Roy by staring out the window, holding her briefcase in her lap.

Roy glanced up to meet Havoc's bright blue eyes in the rear-view mirror. The messy-haired man smiled around an unlit cigarette, starting the engine. Carefully, leaning out the window half the time to make sure he didn't tip the trailer over, he navigated the car away from the station. Falman brought up the rear behind them.

The car was awkwardly silent after that. Roy shifted slightly, not looking Winry's direction for a long time. He looked over instead at the snoozing Edward. He wasn't used to seeing the blonde looking so oddly comfortable around him—certainly never trusting enough to sleep with his hated commanding officer around.

Roy finally looked over at the girl beside him, seeing her eyes reflected in the window. He looked away again, back at Havoc, hoping the major would break the ice for him.

"So, uh," Havoc said after a moment, twiddling his fingers on the steering wheel, "Did Ed ever take you out to any of the restaurants here?"

Winry shrugged. "Just a few. Mostly just somewhere where we could eat and get on the road. Alphonse cooked most of the time for us."

Roy nodded, remembering coming into Ed's dorm room every once in a while to the awkward scene of a giant suit of armor wearing an apron and oven mitts. According to the younger Elric, his brother was an alchemic genius, but he could just barely manage to boil water.

"Ah," Havoc waggled his eyebrows, "I think you might like this place—you like sub sandwiches?"

Winry nodded.

"Good. Breda picked this place out and he's been absolutely in love with it for the past week or so. He always does that—he finds a restaurant and eats there until he's sick of it, then goes to find another place."

Winry and Roy both grinned at this, and the car lapsed back into a more comfortable silence, until Hawkeye turned around in her seat and handed Winry a thick packet of papers.

"These are all the available houses here," she said, "You can look over them tonight if you want. It should help you narrow down the choices. I put the ones with garages on the top since I thought you'd prefer to have a workspace already built."

Winry took the packet, leaning back to flip through it. They were mostly newspaper clippings with few pictures, but helpful nonetheless. She smiled at Hawkeye thankfully, and the brown-eyed woman turned back to facing the front.

Within a few minutes, the two cars were pulling into the parking lot of a green building nestled between a grocery store and an apartment complex. An old, crumbling statue of three women on a rock sat beside the door, and the front wall had "Dirty Dog's Subs" scrawled on it in bright red paint.

Roy raised his eyebrows, mouthing the words to himself. Havoc snorted and turned the car off, and Roy watched as Winry practically dived out the window to get out. He looked over at Ed, who had woken when the car engine was turned off. He glared blearily at Roy over his scarf.

After a moment, he held his mismatched hands up and signed _"Where's Winry?"_

Roy didn't have the chance to answer, as Ed's door opened and Winry reached in and pulled out Ed's wheelchair. He pulled his feet up, golden eyes narrowed in contemplation. Roy smiled slightly and reached over, tugging Ed's hat over his face, then slid out of the car. He watched as Winry struggled to get the grouchy Ed out of the car and into his chair. The young boy scowled angrily, crossing his arms and flopping back, giving Roy a dark look after pulling his hat back up.

Roy smirked—that felt more normal coming from Ed. He looked over at Hawkeye, who came around the front of the car to stand by the driver's door with Black Hayate at her side. She would stay there, Roy knew.

"Honestly, Ed," Winry was growling, tucking the packet of papers under her arm, "Stop being silly. You may as well take your hat _off_, we're going inside anyway."

Ed opened his mouth as if to protest when Winry reached out and plucked his red cap off his head. His blonde hair stuck out in a messy rat's nest, static making it cling to his clothes and the side of his face. He tried smoothing it down, but his gloved hands just made it worse.

Roy caught a ghost of a smile cross Winry's face and he turned, following Breda, Fuery, and Falman as they went inside, arguing about something involving an aardvark in a fish market. Roy listened for a moment, then backed away from the conversation with a shake of his head.

He felt a tiny hand grab his pants leg.

"Uncle Roy!" Alica giggled and held out her arms, demanding to be picked up, which Roy obliged with a mischievous grin, "Uncle Roy, why haven't I seen you in so long? You said you'd visit Miss Winry's house!"

"Your father frightens me," Roy replied with pure honesty, noting Hughes shift behind him, "I think he's jealous that I might steal you away, little monster."

Alicia giggled manically, reaching up and taking Roy's hat from his head and plopping it on her own, pushing her pigtails down. Behind him, Hughes swelled.

"That's no monster, that's my little princess!" he said, face alighting with pride, "Tell him, Alicia! Aren't you an angel?"

Alicia held up her fists into claws and growled at her dad over Roy's shoulder.

"I wanna be a dinosaur!"

Roy smirked as Hughes wailed something about bad influences as the hostess led them through the restaurant to their table—a long one in the far corner, screened off from the other guests per request.

Roy noted the lack of windows with approval— it seemed even the relaxed Breda wasn't taking any chances. He sat comfortably in his chair and put Alicia between him and her father. Winry slid Ed's wheelchair into the empty space on the other side of him. The boy was still scowling and leaned away from Roy as he tried plucking his gloves off. His hair still looked as though someone had electrocuted him.

The waitress, harried due to their large group, managed to get everybody's drinks down on her list—three waters, two teas, three sodas, a beer for Havoc and grape juice for Alicia.

Roy gave Havoc a narrow look as the waitress brought him his mug, a small green parasol sticking out of it. Havoc plucked it out of the beer and looked at it with obvious confusion, then cleaned it with a napkin and stuck it in Alicia's hair.

"You realize you're not getting behind the wheel again, right?" Roy asked, watching as Alicia laughed, playing with umbrella for a few moments before putting it in her own grape juice.

"That's why Major Hawkeye's outside." Havoc grinned, although his blue eyes were serious even as he chugged his drink. Roy watched him for a moment more, then looked over at the rest of his staff.

"Amazing legs," Breda was saying to the interested Falman and Fuery. He moved his hands in the relative shape of a curvy woman's body, "To die for. Sexiest thing I've seen on a pole…"

Roy backed out of the conversation quickly, wondering how he had picked a crew that had no sense of proper company. Honestly. There were two small children and two ladies at the table.

He looked over to where Winry sat on the other side of Edward. She had pushed her menu to the side and was flipping through the pages of the packet Hawkeye had given her. He watched as she dog-eared a page, then looked up as the waitress came back to take their orders.

"Alright, I have three meatball subs, two classics, a kids meal chicken sandwich, a chicken salad, one loaded sub with everything," she slanted Breda a look, "and a bacon sub. Is that all?"

Ed looked up with a frown, holding up his fingers and signing furiously. The waitress and everybody else watched with curiosity, Roy's staff looking as though their hopes were being dropped from a cliff. He could see the sinking expression in their eyes that this was what the great Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, alchemist of the people had been reduced to.

"He wants a chicken sandwich," Winry said, her voice a bit curt with the waitress, who had been staring openly at Ed's automail hand. The waitress quickly scribbled this down and practically bolted from the table to get away from Winry's icy stare.

The whole table lulled into a silence for a moment, then Breda looked back at the rest of the crew.

"So, anyways, she was tall as all hell and had a nice set of…"

Havoc grinned salaciously around the rim of his mug and Roy sighed. In front of him, Gracia chuckled.

"Don't pretend," she teased, "You'd be in on this conversation if you weren't with company."

Roy smiled and propped his chin on his hand.

"Most certainly, but never in the presence of a lovely lady such as yourself, Miss Gracia," he said, grinning as Hughes straightened up in his chair on the other side of Alicia.

"Now see here," Hughes' hazel eyes danced playfully, "First you convert my daughter, then you go on and try to take my wife? You've no shame at all."

Roy fluttered his eyelashes and Gracia laughed, covering her mouth. Havoc looked back at them.

"Don't worry, Mister Hughes sir," he said with a toothy grin, "He steals all my girlfriends. Twenty-eight and counting, sir."

Roy thought about the series of notches that Havoc had cut into the edge of his desk to symbolize the long line of women that had been wooed away from him. It was for the womanizer's own good, really. The first time he got a girl pregnant, Roy would have to deal with the reputation of not being able to properly discipline and control his men.

And besides, a mopey Havoc was just as amusing as a drunk Havoc.

The food was brought and the waitress all but fled again after giving Winry her sub and taking Havoc's mug to refill. Hughes looked over at her as she flipped through the packet.

"Found anything good yet?" he asked, "We can go poking around the city tomorrow if you like, since it's a Saturday. I don't have to be back to work until Monday."

Winry pulled out a paper with a picture stapled to it, passing it over to him.

"It's got three bedrooms," she said after a few moments, letting Hughes look over it, "And a really nice garage."

Hughes looked at the top of the page.

"138 Waterman Avenue," he read aloud, "That's not too far from where Major Hawkeye lives, isn't it?"

Roy thought about it. "She's two blocks down, if I remember properly, on Spenser. It sounds like a good idea, especially if there's an emergency."

Roy looked over at Winry. "What about an operating room? Where would you have that?"

"The master bedroom downstairs, probably," Winry pointed to the plans; "It's in the center of the house and can be easily sealed off, and it's accessible by wheelchair."

Hughes dropped the paper and took a bite from his sandwich. He chewed thoughtfully. "Got any others? This is nice, but you want to look at other options."

The rest of the meal went smoothly—although the waitress did not return except to fill Havoc's beer, bring them their bills and flee once more. Roy, Hughes, Gracia, and Winry looked over several more papers after they finished eating, then the entire group left, but not before Roy ordered a hot chicken sub right out of the oven.

The silence on the way back—broken only by Havoc giggling about something or another in the passenger seat, gaining a disapproving look from Hawkeye (boy, was he going to catch it from her later, Roy considered)— was not as awkward or uncomfortable as it had been earlier.

Then again, Winry had quite firmly put the once more asleep Edward between them this time, so that may have had something to do with it. The young blonde fell against Roy arm more than once, working his jaw in his sleep and occasionally scratching his belly.

They dropped Winry, Ed, and the Hughes' off, and Havoc managed to sober himself up enough to get out and unhitch the trailer in their driveway. He even pulled Ed's wheelchair out for Winry, then got Ed and put him—albeit clumsily—into the chair. Despite this, Ed did not wake up.

"Kid sure sleeps a lot," Havoc said, getting back into the car as they watched Winry and the others head up to the porch and go inside. Hawkeye restarted the car when they were safely in the house and turned out of the driveway. In her rearview mirror, she could see Falman turning down the opposite direction, presumably to drop off the rest of his unruly passengers.

Roy reached over to where Black Hayate was sitting between his two subordinates and scratched the dog behind the ear. Black Hayate's tongue fell out and he turned, leaping into the back seat to sit in Roy's lap. Roy reached up again and slipped the sandwich he had bought Hawkeye into her lap. She glanced down, then let a half-smile curl her mouth.

"I'm sure he was exhausted from the train ride and the strain from the automail surgery. I've heard it takes years to properly recover."

Havoc hummed slightly.

"Not Ed," he replied, "It never takes him too long to recover… It's sad."

Roy flicked a look over to the back of Havoc's head, wondering absently if his subordinate was really quite as drunk as he acted. He looked up to meet Hawkeye's gaze in the mirror.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Roy replied after an unsteady moment, where he felt as though he couldn't be sure about talking to his subordinate. "You're right, Edward never takes too long to recover."

"Problem is…" Havoc closed his eyes and laid back in his seat. Roy saw his jacket shirt fold up a bit to reveal one of the man's side guns, "…that ain't really Ed. Not Ed at all."

He opened one blue eye and stared out the window.

"I sure hope Al finds what he needs to fix this."

The car fell quiet.

"You should keep your mouth shut," Hawkeye advised after long length, "You're drunk and that obviously makes you both nosy and talkative."

Havoc grinned and closed his eye once more, relaxing into his seat. Roy watched him, then looked out the window as buildings slipped by into the darkness. His coal-black eye was narrowed in contemplation.

"_I hope so too, Havoc. For everybody's sake, I hope so too._"

* * *

"Winry? Winry, are you ready to go?"

Winry sighed impatiently. Honestly-- men had no idea what it like for girls to brush waist length hair after a hard night of tossing and turning on someone's guest bed. Not even Edward had let his hair grow to that length, and as far as she knew, he hadn't been planning on it.

Finally, she tossed her brush onto her bed and ran downstairs. She grabbed her briefcase and threw the strap around her shoulder. Gracia was dusting in the living room, the windows all open to air out the slightly musty smell that the house had gained after being left shut up for so long. She smiled to Winry as she ran out the door, where Hawkeye-- in a green turtleneck and black slacks-- and Hughes were out by the car. Thankfully, Winry noticed, Roy was not in the backseat again.

"Ready?" Hughes asked, "Gracia said Ed ate his entire breakfast and is playing with Alicia in her room, so you don't have to worry about him."

"I wasn't worried," Winry lied, opening the door, "I know she can handle him. Do you have the papers? I left them on the coffee table last night and I couldn't find them this morning."

Hughes held up the papers-- separated so that the houses Winry had chosen were on top. Winry breathed a sigh of relief-- she hadn't wanted to go ask Alicia and find the girl making paper angels out of them.

"I called up as many of them as I could reach," Hughes said as they climbed into the car.

Winry smiled. "Thank you," she replied, setting her briefcase beside her.

The first house on the list was near the center of the city and was only a one story building, which worried Winry a little bit. It seemed nice on the inside until they went into the master bedroom.

They then promptly excused themselves to another meeting. The three were silent in the car for a long time.

"I've never seen such a horrible color on a wall before," Hawkeye finally said in a firm voice.

Winry and Hughes grinned at each other.

The next house was very nice, and Winry was almost prepared to take it. It was for rent only, but it had four bedrooms and a garage and was near a park. However, when Winry brought up the question of building a ramp onto the porch, the owner stiffened.

"I wouldn't appreciate it," she had said in a cold voice, "It ruins the appearance and brings down the value of the house."

So it was off the list, with a curt good-bye from Winry. The next two houses were also not partial to having a wheelchair ramp built up the stairs, but were willing to excuse it until they found out Winry wanted to make her automail business in the garages. Another house had a horrible piping system as Hughes discovered, tapping the butt of one of his knives against the rotting bathroom wall behind the shower.

Winry flopped into the back seat of the car, throwing her arm over her eyes as Hawkeye pulled into a gas station. She laid all the way over, pushing her briefcase into the floorboards.

"I. Want. To. Die."

Hughes chuckled. "Don't say that. We'll find a house. This next one looks fairly nice. It's in a good location too."

Winry growled something fairly obscene under her breath as Hawkeye climbed back into the car. The major looked up into the rearview mirror with raised eyebrows, then slammed her door shut and cranked up the engine. Beside her, Hughes picked up the paper for the next house and looked at it. "Oh… this is the house we were talking about last night, the one on Waterman Avenue."

Winry was silent, then held her hand out for the paper, wiggling her fingers demandingly. Hughes handed it over for her to look at.

"I really hope this is the one," she muttered, "Or I'm going to leap off the nearest cliff."

"You'll have a long way to walk then, because I'm not driving you," Hawkeye responded, shifting her gaze back to the mirror. Winry rolled her eyes.

"Then I'll throw the building owner off the cliff."

Hawkeye looked thoughtful, then nodded. She could swing that.

Hughes shrank back away from them both.

It took only a few minutes to get to the house. Winry smiled almost the moment she saw it-- it was a nice cream color and had a decent driveway, enough room between it and the mailbox to put a sign. She just hoped that the building owner wanted to sell rather than just rent. They pulled up, Winry admiring the size of the garage. A definite plus. The house had a brick fence grown over with vines, and on either side of her were two other fairly nice houses.

As they were getting out of the car, someone came down the porch stairs. The building owner, Winry figured. He was a nervous, sweaty man, sleeves pulled up to his elbows as he rushed out to greet them.

"Good morning," he greeted them, reaching over to shake Hughes' hand, then Hawkeye's, "Mr. and Mrs. Rockbell? I am Vick. Ah— Vick Abbey. Welcome"

Hughes and Hawkeye looked at each other with wide eyes, then back at Winry whose face had gone carefully blanked. Hawkeye opened her mouth to correct Vick, but the man was already talking again, leading them up to the house.

"Now, you said on the phone the garage was very important, so…" Vick produced a key and opened the garage door, pushing it up, "It's nicely sized, and clean as well. If you're looking for a workspace, there are counters…"

One look and Winry was ready to forgive the man for not acknowledging her. The garage _was_ clean, and there _were_ counters, and plenty of extra space for her automail. There were even cabinets and a sink.

In other words, a heaven in potential. A diamond in the rough.

"And it lets into the house, so you don't have to go all the way around to go inside," Vick produced another key, opening the house door and letting them into a small hallway that lead into a large living room. Winry—still pleased with the garage—smiled at the large fireplace and enjoyed the warm, deep red walls.

"And the kitchen?" Hughes seemed genuinely amused by the man's mistake and decided to continue stringing him along. "We'd also like to see the master bedroom."

"Of course," Vick flicked a look between him and Hawkeye, whose mouth twitched ever so slightly in annoyance.

Then again, Hawkeye considered, she ought to be thankful. Mustang would milk it for as long as attention wasn't drawn to the mistake. He'd love it, she thought, with narrowed brown eyes.

"The kitchen…" Vick showed them in, "Not incredibly large, but it gives a nice view outside. You can keep on eye on any children…"

He looked at them again, then finally at Winry. Hughes refrained from sniggering and Hawkeye refrained from putting a bullet between Hughes' eyes.

Winry smiled as they were lead to the master bedroom. It was tile, she was pleased to note, which would save her the trouble of having to go and rip up a bacteria-gathering carpet. It was almost completely unfurnished, but Winry honestly didn't mind. She could put in her own hospital beds anyway.

"There are also two bedrooms upstairs, a loft, and the attic. There are two full bathrooms up there as well."

Winry nodded, then finally spoke up.

"Are you selling or renting?"

Vick smiled in a pained sort of way at her. "Selling, unfortunately. I'd like to rent, but I've found that it's not reliable. Too many problems with having to chase out people who don't pay and become squatters. I'm sorry if that's a deal-breaker…"

"More like a deal-maker," Hughes replied with a toothy smile, looking back at Winry and deciding to put a quick end to the game, "Miss Rockbell, I don't think you're going to find a better house. What do you think?"

Winry looked up, ignoring Vick's confused expression. "I like it, Mister Hughes. I think I'll go for it."

She sharpened her expression, holding up the papers to the house. "It says here that you were wanting a down payment of 4 million cenz and the first month's payment, but I think I can give you the first six months easy."

Both Hughes and Hawkeye turned to look at her with open mouths this time, much to Winry's disgruntlement.

"What?" she snapped, "I'm an automail technician, and it's a good job to have. Really. Ed's nickname is "cash cow", and I gave him a family discount."

For a brief moment, Hughes entertained the idea of quitting his job and becoming Winry's apprentice. In front of him, Vick seemed to gain a good deal of composure, reaching up to slick back his hair and appear more professional. Money talked, Hughes figured with a bit of disgust, and it sang quite loudly to this man.

"Well," Vick said, his voice much smoother and less dismissive of Winry, "Miss Rockbell, I think we can most certainly come to an agreement. If you'd like to come upstairs, I've made a temporary office in one of the bedrooms. We can draw up the paperwork and have everything se--"

"I think--" Hawkeye interrupted, "--I think perhaps a close inspection is in order first. I don't think she wants to buy it right off the bat and find something terribly wrong with the house. Do you?"

Vick started sweating again.

"No ma'am," he said, withdrawing to the stairs, "I'll be up there when you decide."

He turned and went huffing up the stairs then, leaving Hawkeye and Hughes to spread out. Hughes headed to the living room and Hawkeye to the bathroom after doing a once over of the room. Winry watched them leave, then went to the kitchen. The windows were huge in there, revealing the fenced in backyard. It was nice, but Winry was reminded of the rolling hills of Resembool and felt a pang of homesickness.

She sat in the booth by the window and waited patiently. It took some time, but eventually, her two companions meandered back into the kitchen. She crossed her arms and looked at them expectantly.

"I think the water heater needs some work," Hughes said with a shrug, "Its pipes are a bit rusty. But that's all I found."

Hawkeye nodded her agreement, and Winry felt quite confident that everything was fine if the straight-laced woman hadn't found anything wrong.

"Alright. Let's go settle this."

* * *

The next few days were but a blur to Winry. Just as quickly as she had settled into the Hughes' home, she found herself being replanted into the beautiful house she had bought on Waterman Avenue. Once again, Roy and his entire crew showed up to help her, with the addition of Armstrong, who had come up from Lior when he heard she and Edward were moving into Central. He had been overjoyed to see Ed alive, regardless of his appearance.

"There you go, Miss Rockbell," Fuery said, getting up from the ground and putting away his toolkit. He brushed the knees of his overalls off. "Telephone all set up ma'am. Your number is under the rotary."

"Thank you," Winry said, heaving the box she holding into the kitchen, where Breda and Havoc were arguing over where to put the fridge.

"By the stove," she ordered sharply, ending the conversation. The two men quit arguing and looked over at her, then both shoved the fridge into place as she opened up the box and pulled out the bundles of silverware she had packed away. She put them into the drawer under the cabinet before leaving the two to argue about how the table would go.

Back in the living, Winry took a good look around, smiling at the sight of Ed sitting in his wheelchair, holding a box up above his head for Roy to pick out of. He had found the frames, she realized as he plucked the old photos from the box, cleaned them with a handkerchief, and then set them on the mantle above the fireplace. He had also put logs in and set the grate for her.

Oddly enough, the job suited him.

"Ah, Miss Rockbell," Falman leapt into her field of vision, visibly nervous, "Ma'am, I noticed, um, well— there's a slight problem…"

Winry narrowed her eyes.

"_What_?"

Falman looked as though he may have run from her. "Well, uh—well, I can't seem to find… I seem to have misplaced your couch."

Winry relaxed as Roy burst into stifled giggles.

"No," she laughed, "No, I don't have one. It's okay."

Falman slumped in relief as Hawkeye came in with a box for the master bedroom. She was followed by Armstrong, clutching a mattress under each massive arm.

"I'm just going to wait to buy one," Winry continued, waving a dismissive hand, "For now, anyway."

Hawkeye nodded. "Well, we're going to get the beds upstairs and everything will be done. All of Al's things are in his room, your automail equipment is in the garage, and all the other boxes are in the attic. You might have a small cockroach problem, I've noted."

Winry nodded. "Thank you very much for your help. Would any of you like to stay for lunch? It's really the only way I can repay you right now."

"That's very kind of you," Roy said, stepping away from the fireplace. Ed tossed the box at him and stuck his tongue out at Roy, much to the dark-eyed man's chagrin. "What are you—"

"—No, sir," Hawkeye gave her superior a narrow look, "We only _just _got this half of the day off. We have to be back in the office by one this afternoon. A half hour, sir. Some of us have to go back and get changed—and get clean— before the Fuhrer sends an attendant to do roll call."

Roy pouted, feeling his stomach rumble under his smudged uniform, but conceded to her and gave Winry an apologetic look. Hawkeye and Armstrong quickly made their way upstairs to deposit the beds and the last box, then came back down.

Winry stood at the door as Roy and his staff laughed, thanking every one of them as they left.

Armstrong was the last to go, stopping as he bent to duck out the door. He laid a massive hand on Winry's shoulder.

"I put emergency numbers by your phone," he rumbled, serious blue eyes peering down at her from under his bushy eyebrows, "There's the police department of course, and then I put Major Hawkeye's number under that. Also—the brigadier general's number."

Winry looked up through her blonde lashes at him, the edges of her mouth turning down a bit.

"I understand things are a bit tense for you right now, but…" he hesitated, leaning forward a bit, "The general is a good man and will protect you if you ask it of him. With what has been going on in Central, you will need all the protection you can get, especially with two famous alchemists under your roof."

He paused.

"I would give you my number, but I will be going back to Lior soon. I would not be of much help."

Winry sighed and conceded to his point. He smiled under his moustache and patted her shoulder, then left without another word.

Winry shut the door behind him, then turned and looked back at Ed, who was giving her a slightly annoyed look. His stomach growled loudly in the silence.

"Alright," Winry laughed, "Come on. Our first meal in the new house."

Ed put his hands on the wheels and followed her eagerly into their new kitchen.

**

* * *

**

Um, hi. So long, and this is all I have. One of my longest chapters but...*is shot for not providing jack crap* OH WELL.

DON'T GO AWAY, BECAUSE IT PICKS UP FROM HERE. I PROMISE.

Now, the basis for the money is derived from "520 Cenz Promise", a chapter in the manga. Ed had borrowed 520 cenz from Mustang to make a phone call. Where I live, a phone call is uniformly 25 cents each. Using math, I then concluded 2,080 cenz is equal to a dollar, and then a $2,000 downpayment on a house equaled out to roughly 4 million cenz. Yeowch.

Now, Winry is easily able to afford this because it is also mentioned that she is paid for her automail tech work-- and that Ed's automail limbs cost about as much as a brand new car-- and that she gave him a _family discount_. So yeah, Winry's not yet batting an eyelash about money.

Resting now. Because I've been working on this like crazy. Like... very crazy. I have had probably six hours sleep total in the past few days.

--CFoxy *twitches*


	13. Author's Notice

Authors Notice

Sad to say... just kidding.

But no, this is not going to die. It still has taken up too much of my brain to die. Usually seeing an author's notice is a kiss of death, but I'm determined to see this story to it's end. If not, the bunnies will kill me. Really.

Unfortunately, as I continue this, I realize that I had no idea where it was going. Plot holes opened, things I didn't like began appearing, and it became glaringly obvious that I had read the entire manga but watched relatively little of the anime, which is what the story is based off of. So, fairly soon, you will be seeing another story in my list that is also called "Tide Began to Rise".

Yes. It is called... a reprise. A rewrite. To fix this total fuck up of a story. I mean... I didn't even know what had happened with Scar and Lust in Lior when I started this. When I made Hakuro Fuhrer, I knew he was dumb as a box of rocks, but not to the extent that the anime portrayed him as. For God's sake, I dint even know that Alphonse was bound to a giant transmutation circle and couldn't kill Envy like I thought he could. *is shot* I knew about Roy and Ed meeting near the end, but I didn't know what was said, and exedra. I could go on.

Expect the first chapter of the reprise soon, and give me some feedback on how you like the changes. _ I also intend on fleshing Hakuro out a lot more than just that "annoying guy in Roy's way."

I've also get to work on the whole wrong soul in Ed's body, thing, because that's really just not fleshed out like it should be.

-With much love, CFoxy


End file.
